LIFE   OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 


FROM  A  .DAGTTKP-REOTJPE   FN    L 


TIIK 


LIFE 


OP 


JOHN  PENDLETON  KENNEDY. 


BY 


HENKY  T.  TUCKEUMAN. 


NEW   YORK: 
G.    P.   PUTNAM    &    SONS 

ASSOCIATION    BUILDING. 
1871. 


5"' 


Enk-red  according  to  Act  of    Congress,   in  the  j-oar  1871,   by 

THE  EXECUTORS  O^  JOHN  P,  KENNEDY, 
in  the  OUico  of  the.  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  PRINTED  BY 

WILLIAM  McCREA  &  CO.,  JOSEl'II  J.  LITTLE, 

NRWBUHOH,  N.  T.  108-114  WooskT  Street, 

Now  York. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION.  ,-. .  ~ «, Page  9 

CHAPTER  I. 

Parentage  ;  Birth  ;  Education. — Autobiographical  Sketch 23 

CHAPTER  II. 

Baltimore. — Historical  and  social  reminiscences;  Local  and  Lit 
erary  81 

CHAPTER  III. 

Law  Studies ;  Social  Life;  Admitted  to  the  Bar;  Eminent  Lawyers 
of  Baltimore;  Friendships;  "The  Red  Book;"  Death  of  Cruse; 
Public  Life;  Pinkney;  Member  of  the  House  of  Delegates;  Ap 
pointed  Minister  to  Chili ;  Declines;  Marriage;  Death  of  his  wife ; 
Fox-llunting 101 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Second  marriage  ;  Law  Business ;  Absences ;  Letters  to  Mrs.  Kennedy ; 
Home  Life;  Journeys;  Residences  in  the  City  and  Country  house 
at  Patapsco 122 

CHAPTER  V. 

"  Swallow  Barn  ;"  Its  Publication ;  The  Class  of  Writings  to  which 
it  Belongs  ;  Its  Plan,  Style  and  Significance ;  State  of  American 
Literature  at  the  Time  of  its  Appearance ;  Discouragement 
Thereto;  Its  Reception;  Success;  Subject;  Republicatioii  and 
Illustration..  .  146 


865891 


CQKJTENT8. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Novels  ;  "  Horse-Shoe  Robinson ;"  Its  Scope  and  Aim  ;  Its  Hero  ;  Moral ; 
Criticism  ;  Its  Success Page  161 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Political  Life;  The  Protective  System;  Clay;  Elected  to  Congress  ; 
Social  Privileges ;  "  Defence  of  the  Whigs ;"  Reports ;  Proposal  of 
Webster;  Complimentary  Dinner ;  Aids  Morse's  Telegraphic  Ex 
periment;  Again  elected  to  the  Maryland  House  of  Delegates; 
Speech  at  Hagerstowii ;  Political  work  and  distaste  therefor.  172 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Publication  of  "  Rob  of  the  Bowl ;"  "  Annals  of  Quodlibet"  and  the 
"Life  of  Wirt;"  Elected  Provost  of  the  University  of  Mary- 
laud .188 


CHAPTER  IX. 
His  Interest  in  the  Young  ;  Anecdotes  ;  His  Godson 203 

CHAPTER  X. 

Appointed  Secretary  of  the  Navy ;  Enters  upon  his  duties ;  Naval 
Expeditions;  Dr.  Kane's  search  for  Sir  John  Franklin;  Ericsson's 
trial  trip;  Irving's  Visit;  Departure  from  Washington;  Death 
of  Mrs.  Fillmore ;  Visit  to  Greenway  Court ;  Journey  to  the 
Southwest 217 

CHAPTER  XI. 

His  Father-in-law;  Life  and  Character  of  Edward  Gray;  Visit  to 
Europe 246 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Ill-health ;  Lameness  ;  Cheerful  endurance  thereof ;  Literary  Pro 
jects  ;  Notes  for  Essays ;  Miscellaneous  Writings ;  Autograph 
Leaves ;  Occasional  Addresses ;  Taste  in  Literature ;  Advice  to  a 
Young  Author ;  Adieu  to  his  Library  ;  Social  honors 264 


CONTKNTS.  I 

CHAPTER  XIIT. 

Second  visit  to  Europe  ;  Extracts  from  Journal;  Letters  to  Hon.  R.  0. 
\Viuthrop  and  Judge  Bryan Page  278 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
During  the  Rebellion 306 

CHAPTER  XV. 

His  Journals;  His  Social  Life  and  Influence;  Public  Spirit;  Various 
Speeches;  Occupations;  Slavery  in  Maryland;  Manumission  of 
Two  Slaves;  His  Forbearance  ;  Record  of  his  Feelings  and  Daily 
Experience 343 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Intercourse  with  Authors  ;  Thackeray  ;  Cooper  ;  Willis ;  Prcscott  and 
others  :  Poe  ;  Cruse  ;  Irving 363 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
The  IVabody  Institute 390 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Correspondence 401 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Visit  to  Cuba  Tin.  New  Orleans 435 

CHAPTER  XX 

Last  Visit  to  Europe  ;  Last  Public  Appearance  ;  Failing  Health  ;  Last 
Illness;  Death ;  Burial  at  Green  Mount ;  Tributes 456 


AITENDIX 


477 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  great  need  of  our  country  is  Social  Education,  in  the 
best  sense  of  the  term.  We  have  a  system  of  free  pub 
lic  tuition  that  secures  a  certain  amount  and  degree  of  mental 
culture  j  which,  however,  instead  of  equalizing  social  privi 
leges,  is  apt  to  produce  ambition  and  discontent  as  well  as  to 
diffuse  useful  knowledge  ;  for  it  is  a  discipline  which  deals  al 
most  exclusively  with  intelligence,  leaving  the  affections  and 
sympathies  crudely  or  casually  developed.  We  have  a  grega 
rious  habit  of  intercourse  subject  to  no  laws  of  rank  or  eti 
quette  and  dependent  on  the  individual  sense  of  propriety 
and  personal  affinities,  for  all  of  order  or  amenity  it  calls  forth. 
We  have  political  institutions  which  give  free  scope  to  all,  ir 
respective  of  endowment,  birth,  vocation  and  character.  The 
extent  and  enterprise  of  our  country  afford  exceptional  op 
portunities  to  the  shrewd  and  industrious,  to  acquire  for 
tunes.  But  with  all  these  signal  advantages,  there  is  no  pro 
vision  either  in  our  civic,  educational  or  economical  arrange 
ments,  for  social  discipline  or  refinement  as  such  ;  and,  therefore, 
we  find  men  eminent  in  certain  departments  of  life,  destitute 
of  that  sense  of  the  appropriate,  that  insight  and  tact,  and 
above  all,  that  disinterested  sympathy  which,  in  the  last  anal 
ysis,  is  the  safeguard  and, distinction  of  Christian  civilization. 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

Academic  culture,  official  station,  material  success,  are  con 
stantly  in  violent  contrast  with  the  manners  and  motives,  the 
consideration  and  the  character  that  should  accompany  and 
emphasize  these  personal  distinctions.  Incongruity,  antag 
onism,  inaptitude — the  absence  of  the  generous  and  the  ge 
nial,  the  refined  and  the  elevated  in  tone,  bearing,  and  the 
conduct  of  life,  thus  disintegrate  and  deform  our  social  experi 
ence.  The  old  deference  to  character,  the  primitive  rever 
ence  for  superior  wisdom  and  natural  dignity,  which,  in  the 
first  years  of  the  republic,  harmonized,  by  an  instinctive  law, 
the  defects  of  our  social  life,  have  passed  away.  Hence  the 
value  of  a  true  and  pure  example  and  the  moral  refreshment 
we  derive  from  the  character  and  career  of  an  educated  citi 
zen,  who,  while  true  to  private  duty,  equally  obeyed  the  in 
spiration  of  public  spirit,  and  made  both  attractive  by  broad, 
alert,  refined  and  unselfish  social  intercourse ;  recognizing  the 
law  of  usefulness,  and  at  the  same  time,  the  daily  beauty 
wherewith  order,  kindness,  courtesy  and  the  love  of  art,  letters 
and  nature,  harmonize  and  humanize  its  performance. 

Modern  life  might  be  not  inaptly  symbolized  by  the  libra 
ry  and  the  newspaper ;  that  is,  private  resources  and  home 
culture,  and  the  extrinsic  demands  of  the  "  chart  of  busy 
life;"  in  our  country  the  latter  are  too  often  so  absorbing  as  to 
mar  self-possession  and  overlay  individuality  ;  the  former  are 
the  conservative  elements  ;  and  only  those  who  therein  attain 
somewhat  of  wisdom  and  serenity,  can  master  the  encroach 
ments  of  the  other.  Mr.  Kennedy  was  one  of  the  few  who 
knew  how  to  reconcile  what  was  due  to  himself  and  to  the 
world  ;  he  worked  bravely  while  duty  required,  but  he  wel 
comed  the  freedom  which  gave  scope  to  intellectual  tastes  and 
social  interests,  as  the  legitimate  end  and  aim  of  conscientious 


INTKODHTIOX.  11 

labor.  Herein  he  resembled  the  subject  of  his  popular  biog 
raphy  :  "  How  can  men  toil,"  asks  Wirt  in  one  of  his  letters, 
"  as  they  are  doing  here ; — business  in  their  heads,  business  in 
their  hearts,  business  forever  in  their  faces,  without  one  pal 
pitation  to  tell  them  what  love  and  friendship  mean  ?" 

There  are  two  classes  of  men  who  engage  in  official  life ; 
one  to  whom  politics  are  a  trade — an  exclusive  means  of  dis 
tinction  and  livelihood,  and  cultivated  accordingly  for  these 
ends  ;  the  other  actuated  by  patriotic  motives,  in  some  cases 

yielded  to  at  great  personal  sacrifice,  and,  at  others,  harmon- 

\ 

izedby  a  taste  and  talent  for  public  life;  but,  in  both  instances, 
accompanied  by  resources  upon  which  they  can  fall  back  with 
out  impairing  either  their  contentment  or  usefulness.  To  the 
latter  class  Mr.  Kennedy  belonged  ;  his  intelligence  and  sym 
pathies  alike  fitted  him  to  occupy  a  representative  position  both 
civic  and  social ;  but  his  culture  and  affections,  at  the  same  time, 
rendered  him  quite  independent  of  such  employment ;  to  him 
emphatically  the  private  station  was  the  post  of  honor,  endear 
ed  by  literary  aspirations,  personal  friendships  and  domestic 
love.  Accordingly,  he  often  wearied  of  the  claims  and  clashings 
of  political  life,  and  was  only  reconciled  thereto  by  the  oppor 
tunities  it  yielded  for  honorable  duty  and  congenial  associations. 
As  a  natural  consequence,  his  aims,  scope  and  motives  were 
disinterested,  comprehensive,  national.  He  was  above  intrigue 
and  far  beyond  the  limits  of  narrow  prejudice  and  partisan  self- 
seeking.  He  presented  the  rare  example,  in  our  day,  of  a  con 
scientious  citizen,  prompt  and  faithful  in  the  fulfilment  of  every 
duty  incumbent  upon  a  loyal  son  of  the  republic ;  in  each  sta 
tion  to  which  he  was  called,  bringing  an  earnest  and  wise  pa 
triotism,  and,  in  private  life,  by  pen  and  voice  and  vote,  con 
tinually  promoting  the  welfare  of  his  country. 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

Sir  Walter  Scott,  writing  of  some  cultivated  young  Ameri 
cans  whose  acquaintance  he  had  just  made,  says  :  "  I  hope  they 
will  inoculate  their  country  with  a  love  of  letters  so  nearly  al 
lied  to  a  love  of  peace  and  a  sense  of  justice  ;"  and  Lord  Bacon 
observes  of  men  of  science  and  literature,  that  when  devoted  to 
public  affairs,  "  they  carry  thereunto  a  spirit  more  lofty  and  com 
prehensive  than  that  which  animates  the  mere  politician."  Both 
convictions  of  these  eminent  individuals  are  signally  illustrated 
in  Mr.  Kennedy's  public  life  ;  his  culture  widened  and  elevated 
his  functions  as  a  public  man,  and  enlisted  his  effective  co-op 
eration  in  behalf  of  the  arts  of  peace,  the  progress  of  science, 
and  the  good  of  humanity. 

The  harmonious  development  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  character, 
and  his  auspicious  and  attractive  personal  influence,  though 
derived  from  his  endowments  and  temperament,  were  yet,  in 
no  small  degree,  owing  to  the  gradual  and  healthy  unfolding 
of  his  mind  and  his  rational  enjoyment  of  life.  It  is  excep 
tional  in  our  busy  land,  where  eagerness  of  pursuit,  in  the  race 
for  renown  or  wealth,  so  often  prematurely  exhausts  or  selfish 
ly  absorbs  the  mind  and  heart,  to  find  a  man  of  literary  skill 
or  political  eminence,  who  consistently  exercised  the  one  in 
the  calm  maturity  of  his  powers  and  attained  the  other  without 
sacrificing  either  self-respect  or  peace  of  mind.  Mr.  Kenne 
dy's  early  youth  was  gay  without  dissipation,  and  his  manhood 
was  earnest  and  useful  without  being  wasted  by  care  or  made 
restless  through  ambition.  He  did  not  freely  and  fairly  in 
dulge  his  taste  for  literature  until  he  had  patiently  labored  in 
his  profession  to  earn  the  "glorious  privilege  of  being  in 
dependent."  He  did  not  rush  into  the  arena  of  politics,  but 
gradually  and  gracefully  took  a  part  therein,  until  his  obvious 
ability  and  patriotic  motives  were  recognized  and  honored. 


INTRODUCTION.  13 

Neither  public  life  nor  authorship  pre-occupied  him  to  the  ex 
tent  of  causing  the  least  neglect  of  private  obligations  or  the 
sacrifice  of  those  sympathies,  domestic  and  personal,  which 
were  ever  the  essential  interests  of  his  life.  He  cherished  no 
exaggerated  idea  of  the  desirableness  of  success,  in  the  ordi 
nary  meaning  of  the  term,  either  as  an  author  or  a  statesman. 
Hence  the  man  was  invariably  superior  to  his  vocation  ;  and 
illustrated  and  emphasized  rather  than  succumbed  to  it. 

Somewhat  of  this  happy  blending  of  the  elements  of  char 
acter  and  balance  of  faculty  was  due  to  circumstances.  Plis 
physical  constitution  was  so  delicate  that  long-continued  se 
dentary  occupation  was  impossible  without  detriment  to  his 
health ;  while  his  social  instinct  was  so  predominant  that  he 
could  never  have  reconciled  himself  to  the  life  of  a  bookworm. 
Happy  as  were  the  hours  passed  in  his  library,  engrossing,  for 
the  time,  as  were  his  literary  or  political  studies,  he  was  impelled 
to  seek  companionship,  to  observe  life  and  to  enjoy  the  face  and 
freedom  of  Nature.  A  profound  and  systematic  student  he 
never  was ;  but  a  lover  of  books,  a  man  of  society,  and  a 
cheerful  traveller  always  :  genuine  public  spirit  continually  won 
him  from  concentration  on  private  ends ;  keen  relish  of  the 
fresh  air,  the  free  mountains,  the  picturesque  and  the  peace 
ful  in  rural  scenes  and  the  "  comedy  of  life,"  beguiled  him  con 
stantly  from  his  desk,  to  which  he  returned  with  new  zest  and 
a  more  wholesome  appreciation.  While  he  enjoyed  the  oppor 
tunities  for  usefulness  and  the  honorable  triumphs  of  political 
life,  he  wearied  of  its  monotonous  exactions  and  disdained  its 
unworthy  expedients ;  so  that  the  self-congratulation  with 
which  he  escaped  was  as  sincere  as  the  pleasure  with  which 
he  accepted  office.  .It  was  this  alternation  of  pursuit,  this  in 
terweaving  of  social  and  student  life,  this  vibrating  between 


14:  INTRODUCTION. 

official  labor  and  pleasant  journeys ;  and,  above  all,  the  con 
verging  of  his  sympathies  upon  home  and  friends,  that  kept  the 
background  of  his  existence  rich  and  bright,  and  harmonized, 
with  vivid  and  evenly-disposed  tints,  the  entire  picture  thereof. 

Grateful  recognition  of  our  privileges  and  a  moderate 
ideal  of  life,  are  too  rare  in  this  country,  not  to  make  their  de 
liberate  record  salutary,  as  in  the  following  extract  from  Mr. 
Kennedy's  journal : 

"October  25:11,1854. — My  birthday;  a  clear, balmy  Indian 
Summer  day,  mild  and  beautiful,  in  some  features  a  type  of  my 
life — sunshiny,  peaceful,  almost  all  I  could  wish.  I  say  almost, 
it  has  had  its  drawbacks  and  its  failures — enough  to  teach  me 
my  humanity.  I  have  been  prosperous  in  my  modest  way,  and 
moderation  is  the  best  form  of  prosperity.  I  have  had  no  ex 
traordinary  successes,  no  extravagant  fortune,  no  pre-eminent 
good  luck  ;  but  a  temperate,  fair  and  reasonable  experience  from 
day  to  day.  I  have  lost  many  golden  moments  ;  I  have  com 
mitted  many  obvious  errors  ;  my  faults  have  been  carelessly 
weeded ; — these  I  confess  with  a  penitent  spirit.  I  am  on  the 
verge  of  old  age  with  these  convictions  ;  but  I  am  sensible  that 
I  am  withal  a  wiser  and  a  better  man  in  the  course  of  each 
added  year.  Above  all,  I  am  content,  patient,  cheerful  and  re 
signed  to  all  that  is  to  come.  The  good  and  indulgent  Fa 
ther  of  my  being,  I  trust  in  most  devoutly  as  my  guide  and  pro 
tector  to  the  last ;  and  I  abide  his  providence  with  undoubted 
faith.  I  have  outlived  my  love  of  show  and  luxury,  and  rest 
in  perfect  satisfaction  with  the  comfort  and  leisure  I  have  at 
tained  to." 

Eminently  valuable  and  interesting,  as  a  precedent,  is  the 
example  Mr.  Kennedy's  character  and  Career  offer  to  Ameri 
cans,  who  have  the  resources  to  enjoy  and  the  competence  to 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

secure  leisure ;  as  a  class,  such  men  are  few  and  far  between 
in  our  eager,  over-occupied  and  aspiring  country  ;  but  the  in 
crease  of  moderate  fortunes,  and  the  perpetual  vicissitudes  that 
warn  prudent  and  patient  men  and  women  to  be  satisfied  with 
little  rather  than  risk  all, — will,  in  the  future,  add  largely  to 
the  number  of  those  who  early  turn  from  trade  and  profes 
sional  life,  to  intellectual  and  social  culture.     How  rich  the 
latter  sphere  may  be  in  usefulness,  and  what  a  resource  the 
former  may  become  when    generously   and  wisely    enjoyed, 
Mr.  Kennedy  nobly  illustrated  as  a  faithful  and  public-spirited 
citizen,  as  a  consistent  friend  and  as  a  genial  man.     In  this 
last  character  he  excelled  not  alone  by  virtue  of  a  native  kind 
liness  of  heart,  but  through  that  exquisite  solvent  and  fusing 
element  in  social  life  we  call  Humor.     Its  lambent  flame  twin 
kled  in  his  eyes  before  the  piquant  repartee  or  the  amusing 
story  were  uttered ;  it  gave  a  singular  sweetness  to  his  smile 
and  a  contagious  hilarity  to  his  laugh  ;  it  melted  and  mellowed 
the  sympathies  of  his  companions  into  harmonious  merriment ; 
it  sweetened  the  labor  of  his  political  allies  and  softened  the 
acerbity  of  their  opponents ;  and  it  warmed  and  united  the  re 
cipients  of  his  hospitality  and  the  hearts  of  his  household.     In 
this  regard  as  well  as  in  the  integrity  of  his  nature,  Mr.  Ken 
nedy's  tone  and  traits  were  thoroughly  Anglo  Saxon  ;  for  the 
sturdy  undemonstrative  character  of  that  honest  and  energetic 
race,  in  its  finest  exemplars,  are  rendered  magnetic  and  win 
some  by  this  gracious  quality — essentially  northern — which 
we  call  Humor.     His  felicity  in  repartee  and  witty  rejoinders 
were  memorable,  but  usually  too  dependent  on  the  scene,  the 
occasion  and  the  company,  to  be  quoted  with  effect.      One 
occurs  to  me  as  illustrative  of  his  readiness :  ascending  the 
Biddle  staircase  at  Niagara  with  a  lady,  soon  after  the  failure  of 


16  INTRODUCTION. 

the  United  States  Bank,  his  companion  inquired  why  the  steps 
were  so  called ;  "  winding  up  the  bank,"  he  instantly  replied. 

Companionable  qualities  are  not  rare,  neither  is  it  uncom 
mon  to  enjoy  the  talk  of  clever  men  ;  but  the  charm  of  Mr. 
Kennedy's  social  character  cannot  be  strictly  defined  as  the 
offspring  of  ready  intelligence  on  the  one  hand,  urbanity  on 
the  other,  or  the  fusion  of  both ;  it  sprang  rather  from  the  sim 
plicity  and  candor  of  his  nature  and  the  spontaneous  sympathies 
of  his  heart ;  men  of  wit  are  apt  to  be  over-conscious  and  to 
make  an  effort  to  amuse  or  astonish  ;  men  of  fellowship  are 
apt  to  be  too  familiar  and  commonplace  ;  the  former  exhaust 
themselves  and  often  their  hearers,  while  the  latter  weary 
them  ;  there  is  a  third  class  who  are  self-seeking  in  their  con 
versation,  egotistic  or  eager  for  ideas,  and  so  drain  rather 
than  enrich  their  colloquial  victims.  The  process  and  the 
principle  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  intercourse  was  precisely  the  re 
verse  ;  as  one  of  his  most  appreciative  friends  observed,  he 
always  gave  and  rarely  took  ;  it  was  not  display  nor  com 
placency  that  inspired  his  communion,  but  genuine  social 
instinct,  pure  human  sympathy,  disinterested,  candid,  naive 
utterance,  such  as  makes  the  whole  world  kin. 

It  was  favorable  to  this  electic  development  that  Mr. 
Kennedy  did  not  live  exclusively  in  a  literary  atmosphere ;  he 
was  thus  saved  from  that  encouragement  in  mediocrity  which 
Lamb  attributes  to  domestic  isolation ;  he  escaped  the  self- 
complacency  and  intolerance  born  of  a  clique  ;  and  the  fear  of 
the  shadow  of  personal  reputation  which  is  said  to  have  kept 
Campbell  silent,  as  well  as  the  effeminate  self-estimation  en 
gendered  by  mutual  admiration.  What  his  books  may  have 
lost  in  academic  finish  or  local  laudation,  by  the  fact  that 
they  were  written  with  scarcely  any  literary  sympathy  to  sus- 


INTRODUCTION. 


17 


tain  or  immediate  appreciation  to  encourage,  they  gained  in 
manliness  and  freedom ;  they  were  thereby  more  genuine,  and 
rather  exponents  than  absorbents  of  the  man,  whose  nature 
was  too  expansive  and  heart  too  free  and  fresh  to  exhaust  their 
spontaneous  vitality  in  authorship. 

And  is  not  the  bane  of  modern  civilization,  as  regards  the  in 
dividual,  that  vocation  limits  and  dwarfs  his  nature  by  partial  de 
velopment  ?   Elevated  and  beautiful  as  are  the  culture  and  the 
creations  born  of  art  and  letters,  how  often  character  suffers 
while  talent  triumphs  !     Egotism  and  selfishness  are  only  the 
more    conspicuous  when  they  take  the  form   of  intellectual 
ambition.     As  the  athlete  of  antiquity  sacrificed  brain  to  mus 
cle,  the  devotee  of  science,  of  literature  and  of  art,  in  our  day, 
is  apt  to  gain  success  therein  at  the  expense  of  more  gener 
ous,  sympathetic  and  humanizing  qualities.      The  conserva 
tion  of  these  depends  mainly  upon  the  social  instincts,  upon 
a  disinterested  habit  of  mind  and  action,  which  spontaneously 
seeks  the  happiness  of  others  and  the  exercise  of  noble,  kind 
ly  and  genial  affections.     Rarely  do  these  bloom  on  the  polit 
ical  arena  or  in  artistic  and  literary  isolation  and  self-seeking  ; 
and  it  is  because  the  subject  of  this  memoir,  while  he  bravely 
and  faithfully  did  his  duty  as  a  public  man  and  gracefully  and 
skilfully  as  a  literateur,  ever  kept  aglow  the  sentiment  of  hu 
manity,  the  warm  and  true  social  recognition,  which  brightens 
and  purifies  life,  that  his  example  is  so  worthy  of  record  and 
his  memory  so  widely  endeared. 

To  make  an  impression  or  achieve  a  success  in  war,  states 
manship,  art,  letters,  science  or  trade,  is,  after  all,  but  a  small 
part  of  the  great  end  and  function  of  civilized  life  ;  the  harmo 
nious  development  of  the  individual,  the  average  happiness  of 
existence,  the  content  born  of  well-regulated  desire  and  the 


18  INTRODUCTION. 

consciousness  of  integrity,  the  reconciliation  of  private  culture 
and  public  duty,  the  advancement  of  knowledge  and  the  daily 
inspiration  of  benign,  noble  and  wise  sentiment  and  service — 
this  is  what  all  are  free  to  seek  and  sure  to  attain,  if  ambition 
and  avarice,  egotism  and  discontent  are  kept  in  abeyance, 
through  a  sympathetic,  intellectual  and  honorable  habit  of 
mind  and  heart.  And,  in  all  this,  we  but  invoke  the  gentle 
man,  not  in  the  conventional  but  essential  meaning  of  the  word. 
Hazlitt  declares  independence,  the  knightly  code  courtesy 
and  heroism ;  and  Calvert,  one  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  oldest  friends, 
the  aesthetic  element,  requisites  of  the  character ;  but  after  all, 
do  we  not  find  that  the  great  moral  distinction  thereof  is  use 
fulness  ?  the  power  and  the  instinct  to  enter  into  and,  therefore, 
consider  or  espouse  the  interests  of  others  through  the  sym 
pathetic  freedom  and  insight  they  engender  ?  It  is  the  social 
as  distinguished  from  the  selfish  character,  that  breeds  the 
heart  of  courtesy,  the  love  of  the  beautiful,  the  allegiance  to 
the  true,  which  make  our  ideal  of  manhood.  And  it  is  this 
rare  harmony  of  nature  and  its  practical  satisfaction  in  life, 
and  not  spasmodic  brilliancy  of  achievement,  that  render  our 
friend's  character  precious  and  his  memory  beloved. 

The  last  time  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  and  talking 
with  the  subject  of  this  memoir,  he  took  me  aside  at  a  musical 
fete,  which  he  had  keenly  enjoyed,  and  proposed  a  visit  to 
his  hospitable  home,  partly  with  a  view  of  arranging  his  writ 
ings  for  revision  and  publication,  in  which  the  state  of  his 
health  made  some  friendly  counsel  and  assistance  requisite. 
He  had  the  day  before  consulted  an  eminent  European  phy 
sician,  who,  while  he  gave  no  encouragement  as  to  the  abso 
lute  cure  of  the  infirmity  which  had  attacked  Mr.  Kennedy, 
yet  held  out  reasonable  hopes  that  by  pursuing  a  certain 


INTRODUCTION 


course,  its  fatal  termination  might  be  indefinitely  postponed. 
Five  days  afterwards  all  was  over;  and  it  was  found  that,  in 
anticipation  of  the  event,  he  had  requested,  in  his  will,  three 
of  his  friends  to  perform  the  work  which  he  hoped  to  have 
accomplished  himself;  this  duty  a  private  note  to  his  wife  and 
the  expressed  wishes  of  the  other  literary  executors,  finally 
assigned  to  me.     Sitting  in  his  library— an  apartment  more 
attractive  from  its  comfortable  and  convenient  than  its  luxu 
rious  arrangements,  with  the  effigies  of  his  friends  around,  his 
books,  journals  and  correspondence  at  hand,  as  the  evidences 
of  his  useful,  genial  and  honorable  life  are  revealed,  it  is  im 
possible  not  to  feel  that  any  record  thereof  must  be  inade 
quate  ;  that  the  personal  qualities  of  the  man  gave  peculiar  sig 
nificance  to  what  he  did  ;  and  that,  in  an  exceptional    degree, 
his  presence  is  essential  to  the  vital  interest  and  attraction  of  his 
career  and  character.     In  other  words,  the  writings,  the  pub 
lic  services  and  the  private  worth  of  Mr.  Kennedy,  require  for 
their  due  interpretation    and  just  influence,   a  personal   ac 
quaintance  with  him ;  and,  above  all,  a  vivid  memory  of  his 
social  ministry.     This  is  the  key  to  every  memorial  he^has 
left.     The  silence  and  solitude  of  his  library  are  in  painful 
contrast  to  the  life   and  light  that  so   lately  gladdened  his 
home  ;  while  every  object  reminds  us  of  his  tastes,  his  friend 
ships,  his  public  spirit  and  his  domestic  affections  ;— those 
who  have  not  the  connecting  link  whereby  the  chain  of  asso 
ciation  is  attached  to  his  personality,  lack  the  means  of  fully 
comprehending  the  scope  and  value  of  his  life  and  enjoying 
its  record.     Still,  the  number  of  those  thus  attached  to  his 
memory  and  desirous  of  preserving  it,  make  such  a  selection 
as  we  propose  from  his  letters  and  journals,  of  singular  in 
terest,  however  they  may  fail  to  impress  a  stranger.     He  had 


20  INTRODUCTION. 

survived  the  greater  part  of  the  friends  of  his  youth.  The 
photographs  of  Clay  and  Webster,  Scott  and  Irving,  Prescott 
and  Cooper,  and  other  literary  and  political  allies  and  com 
panions,  remind  us  of  those  whose  departure  preceded  his 
own  ;  and  two  of  his  dearest  family  ties — recalled  by  the  be 
nign  features  of  his  father-in-law  and  favorite  uncle,  the  ven 
erable  Philip  Pendleton — were  severed  some  years  before  his 
death.  The  first  impression  derived  from  what  may  be  called 
the  documentary  evidence  of  his  life,  is  the  remarkable  or 
der  and  system  thereof.  "  It  is  order,  pursuit,  sequence 
and  interchange  of  application  which  is  mighty  in  nature, 
which,  although  they  require  more  exact  knowledge  in  pre 
scribing  and  more  precise  obedience  in  observing,  yet  are  rec 
ompensed  with  magnitude  of  effects."  In  the  most  clear  and 
neat  chirography  he  kept  his  accounts,  noted  his  work  and 
pastime,  his  experience,  his  obligations,  his  plans  and  his 
doings.  The  union  of  probity  and  pleasantry  thus  chronicled, 
is  refreshing  to  contemplate ;  and  were  it  not  that  Mr.  Ken 
nedy  had  a  public  career  and  hosts  of  friends,  both  of  which 
claim  a  more  definite  record,  we  might  be  content  to  leave  his 
name  and  example  to  the  custody  of  the  many  fond  and  faith 
ful  hearts  where  they  are  held  in  love  and  honor.  But  when 
we  reflect  how  quickly  the  vestiges  of  a  good  life  disappear, 
and  how  desirable  it  is  to  cherish  them,  we  feel  it  is  well  that 
some  of  the  words  and  deeds  that  illustrate  his  character  and 
hallow  his  example  should  be  "  set  in  a  note  book."  In  his 
own  "  Life  of  Wirt,"  Mr.  Kennedy  unconsciously  gives  us  the 
rationale  of  the  experiment.  "  Wirt,"  he  says,  "  has  now  been 
dead  twelve  years,  and  I  know  not  twelve  men  who  can  speak 
of  his  history  beyond  that  summary  which  has  already  been 
published.  Wirt's  character  is  so  genial,  so  suggestive  of 


INTRODUCTION, 


21 


pleasant  thoughts  and  good  fellowship,  that  even  in  the  pos 
thumous  exhibition  of  it,  in  a  literary  picture,  it  possesses 
some  portions  of  that  quality  which  eminently  belonged  to  it 
in  actual  life."     In  accordance  with  the  plan  Mr.  Kennedy 
adopted  in  this  instance,  as  far  as  practicable,  the  story  of  his 
life  will  be  told  in  his  own  words,  by  copious  extracts  from 
his  letters  and  journals  :  to  that  life,  his  own  remark  in  regard 
to  Wirt  is  equally  appropriate — "  a  life  confined  to  the  pur 
suits  indicated  in  this  sketch,  may  not  be  expected  to  charm 
the  reader  by  the  significance  of  its  events :  it  is  much  more 
a  life  of  reflection  than  action  ;  of  character  than  of  incident. 
His  social  life  was  one  of  great  delight  to  his  friends.     It  was 
embellished  with  all  the  graces  which  a  benevolent  heart,  a 
playful  temper  and  a  happy  facility  of  discourse  were  able  to 
impart."     These,  however,  are,  of  all  qualities,  the  most  dif 
ficult  to  make  apparent  by  description  or  comment.     Their 
very  delicacy  and  spontaneous  attraction  contribute  to  their 
evanescence ;  they  are  like  rare,  remembered  music,  when 
"  on  the  singer's  lips  expires  the  finished  song ; "  and  plead  for 
immortality.      One  of   the  oldest  friends  of   Mr.   Kennedy 
said  of  him  :  "  all  wholesome,  glad  influences  flowed  out  from 
his  daily  life,  strong  as  the  strongest  of  men  and  sweet  as 
the  sweetest  of  women.     Such  men  as  he,  at  once  so  genial 
and  so  intellectual,  with  a  fascination  alike  for  young  and  old, 
ought  never  to  die." 

The  versatility  of  his  usefulness  and  his  sympathies  may 
be  inferred  from  the  many  and  widely  distant  associations 
that  endear  his  memory.  His  name  gratefully  designates  a 
channel  of  the  lonely  Arctic  sea,  and  is  identified  with  the  in 
itiative  experiment  which  established  the  electric  telegraph; 
with  the  opening  of  Japan  to  the  commerce  of  the  world; 


INTKODUCTION. 

with  the  exploration  of  the  Amazon  and  the  China  Sea ;  with 
the  benefactions  of  Peabody  and  the  loyalty  of  Maryland ; 
with  the  cause  of  education  and  the  old  genial  life  of  Virginia ; 
with  what  is  graceful  and  gracious  in  American  letters  and 
useful  and  honorable  in  American  statesmanship;  with  the 
pleasures  of  society  and  the  duties  of  patriotism ;  with  the 
fondest  recollections  of  friendship  and  the  tenderest  memories 
of  domestic  love. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Parentage  ;  Birtli ;  Education.— Autobiographical  Sketch. 

SOME  of  the  most  successful  merchants  of  Baltimore  were  of 
Scotch  descent,  although  they  came  directly  from  the  North 
of  Ireland  ;  and  by  their  exertions  and  wealth  the  city  became 
originally  famed  as  a  commercial  port.  Among  these,  emi 
grants  was  the  father  of  Mr.  Kennedy,  who,  after  some  years 
of  prosperous  activity,  was  unfortunate,  but  being  generously  aid 
ed  by  his  elder  brother  who  resided  in  Philadelphia,  was  enabled 
to  maintain  his  family  in  comfort  and  give  his  children  a  good 
education.  He  married  a  daughter  of  Philip  Pendleton,  of 
Berkeley  County,  Va.  A  miniature  of  this  lady  taken  two  years 
after  the  period  of  her  marriage,  which  occurred  at  the  age  of 
sixteen,  exhibits  a  face  of  singular  beauty,  wherein  gentleness 
and  dignity  combine  to  give  the  impression  of  rare  womanly 
charms  with  unusual  intelligence  and  force  of  character.  She 
was  evidently  one  of  the  recognized  beauties  of  her  day  ;  and 
the  announcement  of  her  wedding,  in  the  old  county  paper,  is 
accompanied  with  a  quaint  but  glowing  tribute  to  her  attractions, 
after  the  chivalric  style  of  the  times  f  family  and  social  tradi- 

*  Martinsburg,  October  6th,  1794.— Married,  last  Thursday  even 
ing,  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Boyd,  Mr.  John  Kennedy,  of  Baltimore,  mer 
chant,  to  the  elegant  and  equally  accomplished  Miss  Nancy  Pendle 
ton,  of  this  town,  a  young  lady 


24  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

tions  amply  confirm  the  promise  of  her  youth,  and,  even  in  ad 
vanced  age,  she  exercised  an  influence  and  retained  an  affection 
among  kindred  and  friends,  which  is  the  best  evidence  of  woman 
ly  traits  and  noble  principles.  Of  four  sons,  John  Pendleton 
was  the  first-born  ;  and  throughout  life  he  was  a  devoted  son 
and  the  object  of  maternal  pride  and  tenderness.  He  took  the 
chief  responsibility,  for  many  years,  in  the  care  of  his  mother's 
property ;  his  letters  indicate  the  most  conscientious  filial  atten 
tion  to  every  detail  of  her  affairs,  and  the  most  affectionate  in 
terest  in  her  welfare ;  while  to  him  she  manifests  that  entire 
confidence  and  assured  love  which,  when  it  extends  through  a 
long  life,  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  attributes  of  humanity. 
Mr.  Kennedy's  visits  to  his  mother  and  other  relatives  in  Vir 
ginia  were  the  chosen  recreation  of  his  youth  and  manhood  and 
the  solace  of  his  later  years.  Then  and  there  he  enjoyed  the 
free  and  fond  observation  of  nature,  the  delightful  equestrian 
excursions,  curious  studies  of  character,  and  genial  manorial  life, 
the  vivid  memories  of  which  inspired  the  domestic  pictures  in 
"  Swallow  Barn."  He  was  the  connecting  link  between  the 
hospitable  and  pleasant,  but  limited  and  provincial  life  of  Vir 
ginia  and  the  great  world  ;  his  letters  kept  the  quiet  denizens 
of  plantation  and  county  town,  au  courant  with  the  events  of 
the  time,  and  were  often  the  mediums  of  elaborate  political 

For  whom  art  with  nature  kindly  strove 
To  form  an  object  for  the  love 

Of  a  distinguished  few. — 
How  blest  to  gain  the  sparkling  prize— 
Bask  in  the  radiance  of  those  eyes  ! 

Thy  sex's  pride— and  envy  too. 
May  all  the  joys  of  disint1  rested  love, 
(And  such  alone  the  gods  were  wont  V  approve  !) 
May  all  the  honour,  sense — the  bliss  virtue  can  yield, 
Mark  ev'ry  movement — cv'ry  hour  shield — 
And  when  the  mortal  fleeting  period's  o'er, 
O  may  this  happy  pair  attain  th'  Elysian  shore — 
Those  regions  fraught  with  ev'ry  joy  supreme, 
Where  gold's  not  bliss— nor  dignity  a  dream. 

— From  "  The  Potomac  Guardian  and  Berkeley  Advertiser"  of  Mon 
day,  October  G,  1794,  "  printed  and  published  every  Monday  by  N. 
Willis,"  at  Martinsburg. 


PAKKNTAt.K.  25 

discussions,  as  well  as  reports  of  domestic  and  local  news  ;  while 
his  coming  was  anticipated  with  zest,  and  any  long  absence 
made  the  subject  of  pleas  and  protests,  which  make  apparent 
how  essential  was  the  occasional  presence  of  "  Cousin  John  " 
to  the  comfort  and  cheerfulness  of  his  kindred  at  "  The  Bower," 
Martinsburg  or  Berkeley. 

In  an  autobiographical  fragment  written  by  Mr.  Kennedy 
in  1825,  and  revised  many  years  after,  but  never  carried 
beyond  the  record  of  early  youth,  he  gives  his  own  impres 
sions  of  his  parents  as  well  as  the  recollections  of  his  child 
hood.  Therein  his  mother  is  delineated  both  as  to  her 
personal  and  moral  traits,  and  described,  at  the  age  of  fifty- 
eight,  as  a  "  majestic  looking  woman  ;"  more  than  twenty 
years  after  that  date,  she  was  vigorous  and  in  the  enjoyment 
of  all  her  faculties,  when  her  death  occurred,  after  but  a  few 
hours'  illness,  from  cholera.  The  following  mention  of  the 
news,  when  first  received,  is  noted  in  her  son's  journal : 
"Patapsco,  Sept.  12,  1854. — My  poor  mother  died  Tuesday 
night,  at  eight  o'clock.  I  am  deeply  grieved  at  this  melan 
choly  message — so  sudden  and  unexpected  is  the  event.  My 
mother  was  so  cheerful  when  I  parted  with  her  a  few  weeks 
ago  ;  she  was  quite  well,  but  with  a  calm  outlook  towards  her 
end ;  resigned,  contented  and  happy  in  the  contemplation  of 
it,  but  not  dreaming  of  it  so  soon  or  by  such  a  disease. 
Martinsburg  was  entirely  free  from  all  signs  of  cholera  until 
Thursday ;  and  my  mother,  after  she  had  gone  to  the  Bower, 
was  particularly  well ;  on  Monday  morning,  when  my  brother 
Anthony's  three  children  left  her,  she  had  been  playing  the 
piano  for  the  family,  and  was  in  unusually  good  spirits." 

"  I  condole  with  you  sincerely  on  the  loss  of  your  mother," 
writes  Mr.  Irving,  "  for,  from  my  own  experience,  it  is  one  of 
the  losses  which  sink  deepest  in  the  heart.  What  a  blessing 
it  is  to  have  this  feeling  for  music  which  attended  your  mother 
to  the  last !  It  is,  indeed,  a  sweetener  of  life  and  a  fountain  of 
of  youth  for  old  age  to  bathe  in  and  refresh  itself." 

Mr.  Kennedy  had  three  brothers,  one  of  whom  only  sur- 


ZO  LIFE    OF    J01IX    P.  JvEXXKDY. 

vives  him  ;  Penclleton  Kennedy,  the  youngest,  who  died  a  few 
years  since,  was  an  erratic  genius,  and  the  author  of  a  pleas 
ant  record  of  woodland  adventure,  called  the  "  Blackwatet 
Chronicle."  He  read  law  with  his  brother  John,  but  became 
the  victim  of  unfortunate  habits.  His  letters  to  his  brother 
indicate  with  what  gentle  forbearance  and  considerate  affec 
tion  the  latter  sought  to  correct  and  comfort,  when  less  kindly 
counsellors  lost  their  equanimity. 

His  brother  Anthony  married  his  cousin,  Miss  Sarah  Dand- 
ridge,  when  he  was  scarcely  twenty-one,  and  remained  on  a 
small  farm  belonging  to  his  wife  ;  she  died  in  1846,  and  five 
years  after  he  married  Miss  Margaret  Hughes.  He  was 
elected  to  the  U.  S.  Senate  on  the  Know  Nothing  ticket  in 
1854.  He  now  resides  near  Ellicott's  Mills,  where,  in  sum 
mer,  he  enjoyed  the  society  of  his  brother,  living  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  to  whom  he  was  warmly  attached;  his  wife  is  the 
only  daughter  of  Christopher  Hughes,  formerly  U.  S.  Minister 
to.  Stockholm,  and  afterward  to  Brussels.  Andrew  Kennedy, 
the  other  brother,  two  years  younger  than  himself,  went  to  Vir 
ginia  with  his  father  and  mother  in  1819  and  studied  law ;  he 
married,  in  1822,  Miss  Law,  of  Charlestown,  Va.,  had  six 
children,  lived  comfortably,  and  left  his  family  well  provided 
for  \vhen  he  died ;  though  the  results  of  the  late  war  have 
much  impoverished  them.  To  this  brother  Mr.  Kennedy 
was  peculiarly  devoted,  as  they  had  been  constant  companions 
in  childhood.  He  thus  alludes  to  him  on  hearing,  in  a  foreign 
land,  the  news  of  his  death  : 

"  Florence,  April  10,  1858.— My  letters  bring  me  the  unex 
pected  and  sad  news  of  the  death  of  my  brother  Andrew,  who 
died  on  the  27th  of  February.  Although  he  had  long  been  in 
a  feeble  state  of  health,  the  opinion  of  his  physicians  led  me 
to  suppose  he  could  gradually  regain  his  strength  and  a  fair 
share  of  health.  He  himself  thought  differently,  and  told  me 
when  we  parted  that  he  did  not  think  we  should  meet  again. 
I  regarded  this  as  the  expression  of  a  casual  despondency,, 
which  would  be  dissipated  by  returning  health.  He  knew 


AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH.  2 

better  than  his  friends;  and  Pennington  and  my  brother  both 
write  me  that  he  died  most  peacefully,  without  pain  and  with 
perfect  consciousness  and  resignation  to  his  fate.  I  have  lost 
in  him  the  oldest  and  most  constant  of  my  companions,  and 
one  of  the  best  of  my  friends.  Society  has  lost  a  most  up 
right  and  estimable  man." 

Mr.  Kennedy's  father  seems  to  have  transmitted  two 
qualities  which  eminently  distinguished  the  son — relish  for 
humor  and  love  of  friends ;  his  disposition  was  confiding 
and  his  heart  overflowed  with  kindness.  Thus  the  son's  in 
tellectual  character,  as  is  so  often  the  case,  bears  the  ma 
ternal  stamp,  while  his  moral  traits  were  akin  to  those  of 
his  father.  As  to  the  latter's  idea  of  parental  duty,  it  is  grate 
fully  recorded  of  him  by  his  first-born,  that  "he  never,  for  one 
moment,  allowed  the  straits  in  his  circumstances  to  interfere 
with  the  progress  of  my  education.  He  was  very  fond  and 
proud  of  me.  Heaven's  blessings  on  his  memory !" 

Thus  favored  in  his  filial  relations,  Mr.  Kennedy  began 
life  under  the  best  auspices  for  the  development  of  his  affec 
tions,  if  not  for  the  training  of  his  mind.  In  regard  to  the 
latter  he  laments  the  desultory  nature  of  his  education  and 
the  want  of  that  early  discipline,  in  special  studies,  which  is 
deemed  the  best  preparation  for  professional  life.  It  may  be 
doubted,  however,  if  a  more  methodical  system,  and  greater 
early  means  of  culture,  would  have  done  as  much  for  such  a 
youth  as  the  education  of  circumstances  effected ;  the  picture 
he  gives  us  of  school  and  college  life  is  a  limited  and  incon 
gruous  one  compared  to  the  academic  privileges  now  open  to 
the  youth  of  the  country ;  but,  after  all,  such  a  nature  as  his 
best  thrives  on  the  mental  aliment  it  instinctively  seeks,  and 
seldom  is  much  benefited  by  a  prescribed  and  conventional 
course  of  study.  The  boyhood  he  sketches  was  certainly  a 
happy  one  ;  he  had  access  to  good  books  and  was  accustomed 
to  healthful  exercise  and  pleasant  companionship ;  by  discus 
sion  and  reading  his  reasoning  powers  and  his  verbal  memory 
were  cultivated ;  his  literary  tastes  found  scope  j  his  home 


28  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

was  a  genial  shelter  from  the  world,  and  high  moral  principles 
obtained  a  permanent  hold  on  his  motives  of  action.  All 
thoughtful  men  find  occasion  for  regret  in  the  retrospect  of 
their  early  training ;  from  Alfieri  and  Franklin  to  D'Azeglio,  the 
same  sense  of  error  and  deficiency  in  youthful  culture,  is  con 
fessed  ;  but  in  their  case,  as  in  that  of  Mr.  Kennedy,  it  is  evi 
dent  that  natural  endowment  and  a  kind  providence  more  than 
compensate  for  early  disadvantages  ;  "  it  is  a  hard  condition,1' 
he  writes,  "that  we  do  not  come  to  the  perception  of  what 
really  constitutes  a  good  education,  until  it  has  become  almost 
impossible  from  the  lapse  of  time,  or  by  the  impediment  of 
what  we  have  learned  amiss."  Objectively  considered,  his 
boyhood  and  early  youth  were  singularly  blessed ;  he  had  at 
least  one  good  and  faithful  teacher ;  he  was  encompassed  by 
family  love  ;  his  religious  impressions  were  genuine  ;  his  con 
science  was  alive  ;  to  him  "  it  was  the  perfection  of  enjoyment 
to  wander  through  the  mountains,"  and  he  early  manifested  and 
enjoyed  the  dramatic  instinct;  a  man  of  learning  and  taste 
influenced  his  studies,  and  his  imagination  found  free  and  in 
nocent  exercise  in  juvenile  literary  experiments.  A  striking 
illustration  of  the  two  prevalent  elements  of  his  mind  is  evi 
dent  in  the  subjects  he  selected  for  his  graduation  address ; 
they  both  harmonize  with  his  subsequent  development,  wherein 
the  critical  and  sympathetic  alternate  or  are  fused.  "  I  wrote 
on  Sympathy,"  he  says,  "  and  not  being  pleased  with  it,  a  few 
days  before  the  Commencement,  set  about  another  on  Criticism,1 
which,  with  great  despatch,  I  completed  and  committed  to 
memory  in  time  for  the  occasion."  For  the  details  of  his 
childhood  and  early  youth,  we  must  refer  to  the  Autobiograph 
ical  Sketch,  with  regret  that  time  or  inclination  failed  the  author 
to  continue  the  story  of  his  life,  ample  materials  for  which  are 
contained  in  his  letters  and  journals,  but  in  a  form  which  ren 
ders  them  unavailable  for  the  purpose,  except  in  fragments,  to 
any  other  hand  but  his  own.  Of  this  sketch  he  says  in  an  en 
try  of  his  note  book,  dated  Patapsco,  April  7,  1854:  "I 
write  some  passages  in  an  autobiography  which  I  commenced 


AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH.  29 

many  years  ago  and  laid  aside.  It  is  intended  to  be  a  sketch 
of  what  I  can  remember  of  my  own  life,  and  which  I  began 
merely  for  my  own  amusement." 

The  growth  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  native  city  is  strikingly  in 
dicated  by  the  fact  that  the  modest  country  home  called  Shrub 
Hill,  whence  he  rode  daily  into  town  to  attend  school,  is  now 
far  within  the  limits  of  the  city,  the  grounds  covered  with 
buildings  and  the  old  edifice  in  the  midst  of  populous  streets. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 
I. 

My  father  was  a  kind  and  excellent  man.  He  came  from 
Ireland, — I  think  about  the  year  1*784,  being  then  fourteen 
years  old, — was  brought  up  to  business  as  a  merchant  by  my 
Uncle  Andrew,  in  Philadelphia;  had  a  good  estate  left  him 
by  that  gentleman, — succeeded  well  in  trade  in  Baltimore, 
where  he  came  about  1792,  married  in  179^.  He  was  respect 
ed  and  loved  by  his  townsmen  and  was  an  upright,  liberal,  true- 
hearted  man,  who  always  did  his  duty  and  stood  by  his  friend. 
He  was  involved  in  some  unlucky  speculations  in  i8o4,  by 
his  partner,  Mr.  Benjamin  Cox,  which  resulted  in  bankruptcy 
in  1809.  He  struggled  after  this  with  industry  to  retrieve  his 
fortune  ;  tried  business  again,  which,  however,  brought  him 
nothing  more  then  a  meagre  support  for  his  family. 

My  mother  had  a  small  landed  estate  in  Virginia,  which 
was,  at  last,  our  main  reliance.  My  Uncle  Anthony,  an 
older  brother  of  my  father  by  some  twenty  years,  paid  off 
his  debts.  This  uncle  was  a  man  of  fortune,  and  resided  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Philadelphia.  He  enabled  my  father  to 
retain  our  little  country  residence,  known  as  Shrub  Hill, 
where  my  father  had  built  a  small  but  comfortable  house,  and 
which  now  became  our  only  dwelling-place. 

Anthony  Kennedy  was  an  old  bachelor  who  had  grown 
rusty  from  solitude.  He  lived  near  Frankford,  in  the  neigh- 


30  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

borhood  of  Philadelphia,  in  a  large  house ;  had  a  great 
deal  of  property  in  the  city  and  out  of  it ;  collected  his  rents 
with  all  imaginable  punctuality ;  looked  at  a  penny  on  both 
sides  before  he  parted  with  it,  and  grew  to  be,  in  his  old  age, 
a  silent,  unsocial,  and  apparently  unsympathizing  man — the 
natural  effect  of  solitary  life.  But  he  loved  my  father  and  paid 
many  thousands  for  him,  and  kjft  about  seventy  thousand  dol 
lars  of  his  property  to  my  father's  children — that  is,  to  my 
three  brothers  and  myself.  When  he  died,  in  1828,  and  left 
us  these  bequests,  my  father  was  in  debt  in  his  business 
about  twenty  thousand  dollars — sixteen  thousand  of  it  to 
John  McKim  ;  so  we  paid  the  whole  amount  off  and  left  our 
parents  very  comfortable. 

My  father  was  an  excellent  horseman,  a  brave  man,  and 
somewhat  distinguished  as  a  dragoon  in  the  Volunteers  in 
the  time  of  Ross's  invasion  of  Washington  and  Baltimore. 
He  was  in  both  actions  of  that  compaign,  and  did  there,  as 
he  everywhere  did,  his  duty. 

In  1820,  he  removed  with  my  mother  and  my  three  broth 
ers — for  I  staid  in  Baltimore — to  a  farm  of  my  mother's  in  Jef 
ferson  County,  near  Charlestown,  in  Virginia.  Jane  McCay, 
a  niece  of  my  father's,  lived  with  them. 

When  she  died,  which  occurred  about  1825,  and  my 
younger  brothers  grew  up  and  set  off  to  take  care  of  them 
selves,  my  father  and  mother  being  left  alone,  sold  Clayton 
— the  farm  they  lived  on — to  my  brother  Andrew,  and  remov 
ed  to  the  Bower,  the  residence  of  my  mother's  sister,  Mrs. 
Dandridge,  a  gay,  lively  establishment,  where  they  made  a 
portion  of  the  family  by  an  arrangement  much  desired  by 
my  aunt;  and  there  my  father  died  on  the  iyth  of  February, 
1826,  of  a  paralysis,  being  the  third  attack  of  this  disease, 
originally  produced  some  years  before  by  a  fatiguing  journey 
on  a  hot  summer's  day,  without  protection  from  the  sun.  He 
was  sixty-seven  years  old.  He  was  a  man  of  compact  and 
vigorous  frame,  with  great  capability  to  endure  fatigue.  His 
nature  was  kind  and  sociable,  and  full  of  trust  in  every  one. 


HIS    KINDRED.  31 

He  had  a  relish  for  humor,  loved  his  friends,  and  had,  as  far 
as  I  know,  no  enemies.  He  was  careless  and  liberal  in  mon 
ey  matters,  and  preserved  that  trait  through  all  the  period  of 
his  struggles  to  maintain  his  family.  He  was  very  fond  of  me, 
and  prcrud  of  me  for  what  little  I  had  to  make  him  proud, 
and  never,  for  one  moment,  allowed  the  straitness  of  his  cir 
cumstances  to  interfere  with  the  due  progress  of  my  educa 
tion.  Luckily  he  was  able  to  sustain  my  brothers  and  myself 
in  the  destiny  he  had  allotted  to  us,  throughout.  He  was  rich 
while  I  was  a  child,  and  when  his  affluence  might  have  done 
me  harm  in  the  way  of  indulgence ;  and  he  was  poor  just  at 
that  period  of  my  life  when  his  wealth  might  have  given  me 
many  advantages.  Heaven's  blessing  on  his  memory  !  There 
was  nothing  which  he  had  that  was  not  at  my  disposal  if  I 
needed  it.  My  mother  was  a  Virginian — I  ought  to  say  is, 
for  she  is  now  (April  18,  1847)  living  in  Martinsburg  in  her 
father's  house,  in  Berkeley  County.  Her  father  was  Mr. 
Philip  Pendleton, — a  lawyer,  and  something  better, — a  most 
worthy  and  honorable  gentleman.  His  brothers  were  Judge 
Henry  Pendleton  of  South  Carolina,  who  has  given  the  name 
to  one  of  the  districts  of  that  State  ;  Nathaniel  Pendleton, 
the  aid-de-camp  of  Greene  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution, 
and  the  second  of  Alexander  Hamilton  in  that  fatal  duel  with 
Burr — also  Hamilton's  executor.  William  Pendleton  was 
another  brother.  How  many  more  there  were  of  them  I  do 
not  know.  But  the  family  was  full  of  good  men  and  distin 
guished  men,  of  whom  Mr.  President  Edmund  Pendleton, 
of  the  Court  of  Appeals  of  Virginia,  was  chief.  The  connec 
tion  is  spread  all  over  Virginia,  reticulated,  as  Governor  Bar 
bour,  who  was  one  of  them,  would  say. 

When  General  Harrison  was  inaugurated,  in  1841,  every 
body  was  at  Washington.  There  I  met  John  S.  Pendleton, — 
Jack  as  we  call  him, — the  present  member  of  Congress  from 
Culpepper,  and  lately  minister  or  charge,  d'affaires  at  Chili.  He 
proposed  to  me  that  we  should  get  up  a  dinner  of  the  family 
then  happening  to  be  in  Washington.  So  we  set  about  it,  and 


LIFE    OF  .JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 

ordered  a  large  table  to  be  provided  at  Brown's.  When  we 
mustered  our  company,  thirty-two  gentlemen  took  their  seats. 
Governor  James  Barbour  presided.  I  remember  among  the 
company  Edmund  H.  Pendleton,  of  New  York,  former  mem 
ber  of  Congress  from  Duchess  ;  Greene  Pendleton,  his  brother, 
member  of  Congress  from  Cincinnatti ;  Jack,  of  Chili ;  three 
sons  of  my  uncle,  Philip  Pendleton,  Ned  Hunter  and  others. 
Mr.  Clay  came  in  after  dinner,  and  made  us  a  speech  with 
some  laudation  of  the  old  President  Pendleton,  whom  he  knew 
when  he  (Clay)  was  a  boy. 

But  the  country  is  full  of  Pendletons  and  their  descendants. 
Amongst  them  is  General  Zachary  Taylor,  the  hero  of  Buena 
Vista,  and  next  President,  I  hope,  and  General  Gaines,  a  pret 
ty  good  specimen  of  the  old  stock. 

My  mother^  Nancy  Clayton  Pendleton,  was  very  beautiful 
when  she  was  married.  I  have  a  miniature  which  proves  this, 
independent  of  the  tradition  of  the  elders,  which  I  often  hear. 
She  is  an  uncommonly  good-looking  woman  now  at  seventy. 
She  was  married  at  seventeen,  in  Martinsburg,  in  the  house 
which  she  now  owns  and  dwells  in.  My  father  brought  her  to 
Baltimore,  where  she  was  greatly  admired.  The  year  of  his 
marriage  was  that  of  the  Whiskey  Insurrection,  and  my  father 
was  the  lieutenant  in  command  of  a  company  of  volunteers, 
which  marched,  under  General  Washington,  against  the  rebels. 
His  company  had  reached  Fredericktown,  and  were  encamped 
there,  when  the  quarrel  was  settled,  and  my  father  went  from 
that  encampment  to  Martinsburg,  and  took  his  wife — as  the 
Scripture  has  it.  They  were  married  on  Thursday,  the  second 
of  October,  in  the  year  1794. 


II. 

I  was  born  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  October,  1795,  being  the 
oldest  of  four  children,  all  sons.  My  mother  had  another  son 
after  my  brother  Andrew,  but  he  died  when  a  few  months 
of  age. 

As  every  man  has  a  pedigree,  I  state  mine  thus,  being  the 


PEDIGREE. 

exact  truth  established  upon  the  most  precise  historical  dates. 
Somebody  begat  the  father  of  Kenneth,  King  of  Scotland 
—I  do  not  wish  to  carry  the  roll  of  my  lineage  beyond  the 
king — and  he,  of  course,  begat  his  son :  and  Kenneth  begat 
sons  and  daughters  ;  and  one  of  the  sons  begat  sons  who  begat 
others,  and,  in  due  time,  one  of  them  begat  a  gentleman  who 
was  killed  on  Flodden  Field,  having  theretofore — he  or  some 
of  his  fathers — changed  the  spelling  of  the  name  to  Kennedy. 
And  he  of  Flodden  Field,  who  had  degenerated  from  a  king 
into  an  earl,  begat — before  he  was  killed,  of  course, — a  son, 
and  in  regular  procession  of  begettings,  a  great  clan  of  Ken 
nedys  came  to  inhabit  certain  mountains  of  Scotland.  And 
they  got  into  feuds  and  rows  and  sprees  ;  and  lifted  black  mail ; 
stole  cattle  and  burnt  barn-yards,  whereby  many  got  them 
selves  hung.  And  some  kept  the  border  in  hot  water ;  and 
some  fought  the  Irvings  ; — by  the  bye,  I  brought  this  to  Wash 
ington  Irving's  notice,  and  we  have  established  upon  it  a  trace 
between  the  clans,  and  have  found  out  some  honest  relation 
ship.  And  whilst  some  got  hung,  and  some  staid  to  keep  up 
the  reputation  of  St.  Kennedy,  as  Sir  Walter  calls  him,  one 
man  went  over  to  Ireland  and  fixed  his  tent  at  Newton  Cun 
ningham,  in  Donegal,  where  he  begat  two  sons  and  daughters 
— all  Presbyterians  ;  and  the  last  of  these  begat  Andrew,  An 
thony  and  John — which  John  was  my  father.  Now,  on  my 
mother's  side,  certain  Pendletons  lived  in  England,  in  the  time 
of  the  conqueror,  whereby  it  happened  that  Philip  Pendleton 
came  to  be  a  resident  of  Norwich ;  and,  somewhere  about  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  century,  he,  with  his  household,  mi 
grated  to  America,  and  settled  in  Caroline  County  in  Virginia ; 
and  there  he  begat  Henry  Pendleton,  who  married  Mary  Tay 
lor,  and  they  had  sons  and  daughters.  One  of  the  sons  was 
the  Edmund  of  celebrated  memory,  who  was  born  in  that  same 
county  of  Caroline  in  1721.  And  the  brother  of  this  Edmund, 
begat  the  father  of  Henry,  Nathaniel,  William  and  Philip,  of 
whom  I  have  spoken,  which  father,  in  like  manner,  begat  his 
own  sons.  And  Philip  ran  away  with  Miss  Patterson  of  Berke- 


3-4  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

ley,  by  whom  he  got  a  good  landed  estate  near  Martinsburg, 
which  induced  him  to  leave  Culpepper  and  take  up  his  resi 
dence  at  Martinsburg  ;  and  hence  my  good  mother,  and  all 
her.  brothers  and  sisters  ;  and  hence,  again,  the  subject  of  this 
memoir.  And  so  by  clear,  necessary,  and  proper  consequence, 
I  came  to  be  born.  Here  I  would  beg  leave  to  remark,  that 
by  due  attention  to  all  such  causes  and  effects  as  I  have 
brought  into  this  sequence  of  events  concerning  myself,  there 
is  not  a  man  in  the  world  who  cannot  make  out  a  pedigree : — 
which  is  a  matter  very  important  to  be  known.  Having  been 
born  into  this  world,  of  course  I  was  baptized,  and  as  it  so 
happened,  by  Dr.  Alison,  a  famous  preacher  of  that  day,  in 
the  First  Presbyterian  Church  in  Baltimore. 

If  it  be  a  circumstance  of  the  least  conceivable  importance 
to  any  one,  I  will  state,  also,  that  my  original  appearance 
upon  this  orb  took  place  in  a  very  respectable  three-story  brick 
house,  half  way  between  St.  Paul's  Street,  and  Charles,  on  the 
north  side  of  Market  Street,  which  was  burnt  down  one  year 
ago  (I  write  this  in  1847),  then  belonging  to  Captain  Sad  tier, 
who  has  since  built  two  very  good  warehouses  qn  the  ground 
where  the  other  stood. 

I  was  duly  washed,  petticoated  and  kissed  every  day 
through  that  interesting  period  which  is  so  much  exalted  by 
the  women,  and  so  much  neglected  by  the  men  ;  and  as  soon 
as  the  time  came  for  a  summer  journey,  I  was  taken  to  Virginia, 
to  my  mother's  family  there,  greatly  carressed  as  'one  of  the 
miracles  of  the  time. 

I  have  not  a  recollection  connected  with  the  first  four 
years  of  my  life  that  I  can  distinctly  assign  to  the  period.  In 
my  fifth  year,  General  Washington  died  ;  and  I  have  a  faint, 
shadowy  image  upon  my  mind  of  the  funeral  pageant  in  Balti 
more,  and  my  father  riding  past  the  window — one  of  the  light 
horsemen — in  the  procession  while  I  was  recognized  by  him  ; 
the  funeral  car,  the  horse,  and  especially  the  boots  dangling 
by  the  saddle,  heels  formosf  with  spurs,  that  I  remember. 

At  five  years  I  was  taken  to  Mrs.  Coffey  to  be  taught  my 


CHILDHOOD.  35 

letters.  The  school-house  in  Fayette  Street,  then  called  Chat 
ham  (immediately  opposite  the  Union  Bank  at  the  west  corner 
of  the  alley  there),  is  quite  fresh  in  my  memory.  The  good  old 
dame  had  me  in  charge  a  year  or  two.  She  was  gentle,  kind 
and  good  natured  to  us.  I  was  frightened  at  the  first  accost, 
and  was  soothed  by  her  into  confidence.  John  Buckler, 
now  a  most  distinguished  physician,  was  my  comrade  there  and 
has  been  my  friend  ever  since.  He  was  very  handsome,  light- 
haired  and  blue  eyed,  with  the  cheek  of  a  girl.  He  slept 
sometimes  in  his  seat,  and  looked  so  like  a  picture  of  inno 
cent  childhood,  with  his  rich,  yellowish  locks  falling  over  his 
face,  that  it  pleased  the  good  preceptress  to  let  him  sleep,  or 
by  way  of  affectionate  jest,  to  administer  a  pinch  of  her  Scotch 
snuff,  which  woke  him  in  a  fit  of  sneezing.  Buckler  remem 
bers  the  old  lady  very  well. 

Two  years,  I  suppose,  I  was  with  Mrs.  Coffey.  There 
was  Miss  Bel,  an  assistant.  She  must  have  been  the  daugh 
ter  of  the  old  lady,  herself  somewhat  old  maidish,  kind  and 
rigid.  I  have  no  idea  how  I  came  on  in  this  little  training- 
school,  but  well  remember  when  I  was  transferred  to  Mr. 
Priestly's  Academy  in  St.  Paul's  Lane  near  St.  Paul's  Street, 
the  large  house  at  the  corner  of  Bank  Lane.  Priestly  had  a 
boy's  school,  anti  his  wife  a  school  for  young  ladies  and  children, 
all  in  the  same  building.  It  was  rather  famous  in  those  days 
as  a  first-rate  institution  for  both  sexes. 

Mr.  Priestly  and  my  father  were  together  in  a  parlor,  or 
dering  matters  in  reference  to  me.  I  had  a  primer,  and  was 
called  upon  to  show  Mr.  Priestly  what  I  could  do.  I  read 
"  Charles  is  a  good  boy,  and  shall  have  some  bread  and" — 
butter  it  was  in  the  text — I  said  "mi/k."  My  father  laughed, 
and  so  did  Mr.  Priestly.  Up  to  this  point  I  had  been  over 
awed  by  the  majesty  of  my  new  master  and  the  grand  estab 
lishment  around  him  ;  it  was  a  very  solemn  thing  to  me,  a 
child  of  five  or  six  years,  to  be  introduced  into  the  world 
through  a  gate  so  vast  and  imposing  as  I  conceived  this 
academy  to  be,  and  when  Mr.  Priestly,  the  great  presiding 


36  LIFE  OF  JOHN  r.  KENNEDY. 

genius,  laughed,  as  I  thought  no  such  person  ever  could  laugh, 
it  gave  me  great  comfort.  It  dispelled  childish  illusion,  and 
thus  made  an  impression  on  my  mind  which  has  never  been 
lost.  Light  matters,  as  manhood  reckons  them,  are  often 
most  significant  in  forming  the  character  or  guiding  the  per 
ceptions  of  childhood. 

I  was  put  under  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Priestly  in  her  girls' 
school,  up  stairs.  A  young  lady  there,  I  think  her  name  was 
Sophia  Schaeffer,  in  one  of  the  upper  classes,  was  appointed 
to  be  my  mistress,  and  I  remember  her  writing  her  name  in 
pencil  upon  my  ruffles.  It  strikes  me  she  was  pretty  ;  and  as 
I  devoutly  believed  I  belonged  to  her,  I  conceived  a  great 
respect  and  affection  for  her.  I  have  lost  sight  of  her  ever 
since  that  period,  although  I  have  heard  that  she  married  a 
Mr.  Batturs  and  lived  in  Philadelphia. 

Mrs.  Priestly  was  a  large  woman,  of  a  masculine  cast  of 
character, — a  western  woman,  I  believe, — whom  Mr.  Priestly 
had  married  somewhere  on  the  frontier. 

We  had  a  story  of  her  swimming  the  Ohio  River  with  a  child 
upon  her  back  to  escape  the  Indians.  Perhaps  there  was  some 
exaggeration  in  this.  Priestly  was  a  good  scholar,  and,  it  was 
said,  educated  his  wife  after  their  marriage.  She  was  a  stern 
woman,  and  severe  in  her  punishments,  as  I  had  reason,  in 
some  three  or  four  years'  acquaintance,  to  know. 

At  one  period,  I  lived  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Priestly,  I  con 
jecture  that  this  was  at  the  time  of  the  death  of  my  grandfather 
Pendleton — about  1802  or  1803.  It  was  in  the  autumn,  and 
my  father  and  mother  being  called  away  to  Virginia  on  the  oc 
casion,  left  me  in  the  care  of  Mr.  Priestly.  The  young  Priest- 
lys — two  of  them,  if  I  remember  right — John  and  William,  slept 
in  the  same  chamber  with  me,  a  very  large  room,  with  but  one 
bed  for  the  three.  It  adjoined  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Priestly 's  cham 
ber.  We  used  to  undress  by  their  fire,  and  then  dart  into  our 
bed — Mrs.  P.  often  present  to  see  that  we  kept  good  order. 
The  old  gentleman  was  kind  and  considerate,  and  often  play 
ed  at  marbles  with  us  on  the  carpet.  As  I  grew  apace,  I  was 


SCHOOL    DAYS.  37 

transferred  to  the  school-room  of  the  boys,  and  went  through 
the  regular  preliminary  studies  necessary  to  a  classical  course. 
Of  my  friends  of  that  day,  I  remember  Jacob  Hollingsworth, 
and  his  cousin  Tom,  who  died  many  years  ago,  Rider  Winder, 
the  Lemmons,  now  in  business  here,  Cecilius  Jamison,  cash 
ier  of  the  Bank  of  Baltimore  ;  Jo  and  Edward  Patterson,  and 
almost  all  the  sons  of  Alexander  Brown — William  (I  am  not 
sure  of  him),  John,  James  and  George,  now  the  principal  bank 
ers  of  the  United  States  and  Liverpool ;  Dan,  and  John  Mc- 
Henry,  the  sons  of  the  former  Secretary  of  War,  were  there. 
They  are  both  dead  many  years.  In  fact,  Priestly's  school  was 
in  the  best  repute  in  those  days,  and  the  sons  of  our  best  fam 
ilies  were  educated  there. 

We  had  Mr.  Fromentin  as  a  preceptor  in  the  school. 
This  gentleman  was  a  Frenchman  :  he  went  afterwards  to  New 
Orleans,  and  held  a  seat  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States. 

The  second  in  authority  to  Mr.  Priestly  was  William  Sin 
clair,  my  kind  old  preceptor,  friend  and  guide  for  many  years. 
He  was  a  native  of  Ireland,  educated  to  the  Presbyterian  min 
istry,  and  had  been  private  tutor  and  companion  to  Lord  Cas- 
tlereagh,  the  Prime  Minister,  by  whom  in  the  time  of  the  Irish 
rebellion,  he  was  very  badly  treated,  as  he  was  often  heard  to 
complain.  The  Irish  gentlemen  of  Baltimore,  Mr.  Oliver,  Mr. 
Hugh  Thompson,  Mr.  Patterson,  Mr.  Alexander  Brown,  Doc 
tor  White  and  Colonel  Moore  and  others,  were  very  kind  to 
him  throughout  the  whole  period  of  his  life.  He  was  a  good 
scholar,  with  the  kindest  heart  and  the  most  attractive  simplic 
ity  of  character.  Somewhat  jovial  in  his  humor,  and  as  he 
grew  old,  it  was  thought  perhaps  a  little  too  free  in  his  living. 
The  boys  all  loved  him,  and  that  is  a  good  test  of  the  good 
ness  of  his  heart.  Such  popularity  is  a  genuine  proof  of  mer 
it  in  the  point  of  character,  and  is  no  bad  index,  either,  of  mer 
it,  in  point  of  mind.  I  have  endeavored  to  give  a  sketch  of 
Sinclair  in  Parson  Chubb,  in  my  "  Swallow  Barn,"  both  as  to 
his  exterior  and  to  the  composition  of  his  character. 

Priestly  gave  up  his  academy  in  Baltimore  somewhere  about 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

the  year  1808.  He  and  Sinclair  had  projected  the  establish 
ment  of  the  Baltimore  College,  and,  I  think  procured  the  char 
ter  for  that  institution.  When  this  was  obtained,  and  before 
it  was  organized,  Priestly  removed  to  the  West  upon  some  ad 
vantageous  offer  of  a  college  there,  so  Sinclair  succeeded  to  the 
charge  of  the  school.  I  remained  with  him  ;  and  in  fact  con 
tinued  with  him  until,  as  the  phrase  goes,  I  finished  my  ed 
ucation  by  taking  a  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  in  the  college 
which  was  established  under  the  charter  very  soon  after  the 
departure  of  Mr.  Priestly. 

In  the  way  of  education  I  had  gone  along  in  the  regular 
order,  first  in  the  indoctrination  of  those  elements  which  were 
taught  by  Mrs.  Coffey,  ending  in  words  of  four  syllables,  well 
defined  in  those  rough  old  books,  which,  in  my  day,  were  got 
up  on  coarse  paper  between  coarse  covers,  with  a  picture  of 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Dilworth  in  the  frontispiece,  a  stern,  rigid  old 
gentleman  with  a  pen  in  hand  and  rather  a  bleared  visage. 

These  books  were  marvellously  in  contrast  with  the  lux 
urious  libraries  which  modern  art  is  every  day  producing  in 
singular  abundance  to  beguile  the  youth  of  this  period  into 
the  first  paths  of  philosophy.  Whether  these  latter  succeed 
better  than  the  old,  I  cannot  say,  but  there  was  an  odor  of 
leather  and  type  about  our  spelling  books  of  the  old  time,  that 
both  morally  and  physically,  seem  to  be  altogether  different 
from  that  of  the  more  recent  creation.  I  rather  suppose,  how 
ever,  that  these  externals  have  not  much  to  do  with  the  pro 
cess  by  which  good  sense  and  useful  learning  are  infused  into 
the  mind. 

From  the  primer  stage  of  my  training,  which  ended  with 
my  transfer  to  the  boys'  apartments  in  Mr.  Priestly's  school,  I 
entered  upon  that  second  journey,  which,  as  Sterne  says,  lies 
between  "  Criss  Cross  and  Malachi,  "  the  first  attempt  at  writing 
and  the  last  of  the  Old  Testament,  and  thence  into  the  realms 
of  the  Latins  and  the  Greeks.  Along  with  these  I  had  as 
much  as  I  could  digest  of  figures,  geometry,  mathematics  and 
algebra.  At  proper  intervals  came  infusions  of  French  and 


SCHOOL    DAYS.  39 

Spanish,  and  in  short,  my  course  ran  through  all  the  duly-es 
tablished  highways  by  which  it  is  supposed  philosophy  and 
letters  were  to  be  caught,  appropriated  and  kept  for  a  useful 
commerce  with  the  world. 

My  brother  Andrew,  at  the  measured  distance  of  two 
years,  followed  me  along  the  same  paths ;  but  being  destined 
to  mercantile  employment,  did  not  look,  as  I  did,  to  the  college 
honors. 


III. 

In  looking  back  to  the  companions  of  my  youth  whom  I  re 
member  with  most  favor,  I  dwell  on  the  names  of  Hugh  and 
Peter  Young.  They  were  the  sons  of  Mr.  Hugh  Young,  an 
Irish  gentleman  resident  in  Union  Street.  Hugh  was  nearly 
two  years  my  senior,  Peter  and  I  were  of  the  same  age.  Hugh 
possessed  a  high  order  of  talent— was  noted,  as  a  boy,  for  his 
precocious  acquirement.  At  fourteen,  he  was  quite  a  good 
writer,  and  at  sixteen,  was  a  contributor  to  The  Portfolio >,  in 
Philadelphia.  He  was  ambitious  of  fame,  and  took  pride  in 
seeing  his  name  in  print.  His  example  and  admonitions  had 
a  striking  effect  upon  me.  I  ascribe  to  this  my  own  early  am 
bition  to  write  and  speak,  and  I  know  that  it  had  a  sensible  ef 
fect  upon  the  course  of  my  studies.  Hugh  Young  was  handsome, 
and  grew  up  tall.  He  painted  and  sketched  tolerably  well, 
and  had  quite  a  romantic  turn  of  character.  During  the  war 
he  bore  a  musket  in  defence  of  Baltimore,  afterwards  attracted 
the  notice  of  General  Jackson,  and  became  his  aid-de-camp 
in  the  Seminole  campaign,  and  died  of  fever  taken  in  the 
South,  somewhere,  I  think,  about  1824.  Peter  Young  was  a 
kind,  good-hearted  fellow,  of  fair  talents,  who  became  a  mer 
chant,  went  to  the  Havana,  took  the  fever  there  and  died. 
These  two  had  younger  brothers,  who  are  yet  alive.  Mc- 
Clintock  Young,  the  youngest  but  one  of  the  family,  is  now 
(1848)  and  has  been  for  ten  or  twelve  years  past,  the  chief 
clerk  in  the  Treasury  Department  of  the  Government  —  a 


40  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

most  estimable  man,  respected  and  beloved  by  all  who  know 
him. 

Hugh  once  got  up  a  play  at  his  father's  house — the  trag 
edy  of  Douglas.  He  took  young  Norval.  It  was  played  be 
fore  a  select  company  of  friends,  and  Hugh  got  great  credit 
for  his  acting,  as  he  did  for  all  his  enterprises  of  that  time.  I 
played  the  servant,  and  had  to  say,  "  My  Lord,  the  carriage 
waits,"  which  I  did  with  many  tremors. 

It  was  among  my  fancies,  during  my  boyhood,  to  make  a 
mimic  stage.  I  procured  an  old  tea  chest  of  the  largest  size, 
and  taking  away  the  lid,  converted  the  interior  into  a  minia 
ture  theatre.  I  painted  scenes  for  it,  sawed  slits  in  the  sides 
to  let  in  fly-scenes,  got  a  range  of  small  wax  candles  for  the 
footlights,  painted  a  drop  curtain,  which  was  arranged  behind 
a  green  one,  and  introduced  puppet  figures  (which  I  drew  my 
self,  and  cut  out  of  pasteboard),  through  the  floor,  and  made 
plays  to  suit  all  this  apparatus,  which  I  used  to  exhibit  at 
home,  very  much  to  the  gratification  of  my  school-fellows  and 
the  servants  of  the  family. 

My  father  lived  at  Shrub  Hill  at  this  time,  and  I  had  a 
chamber  in  the  attic,  where  I  pursued  my  studies,  and  dealt 
in  a  very  miscellaneous  career  of  authorship,  writing  essays 
on  many  subjects,  embryo  tragedies  and  abortive  comedies ; 
tales,  epitomies  of  almost  every  science,  but  especially  of  mil 
itary  engineering,  to  which  I  had  taken  a  violent  attach 
ment.  Then  I  had  a  diary,  also,  in  which  I  kept  an  account 
of  my  readings,  and  made  wise  reflections  upon  the  passing 
events. 

A  grievous  fault  into  which  I  fell  at  this  period  of  my  life, 
was  the  overloading  my  mind  with  a  multiplicity  of  studies 
and  pursuits,  which  hindered  me  from  that  systematic  labor 
by  which  I  might  have  digested  and  retained  what  I  read. 
Continually  changing  my  subject,  my  mind  became  confused 
with  the  variety  of  the  demands  upon  it,  and  I  therefore 
never  arrived  at  any  thing  like  accurate  attainment  of  any 
branch  of  knowledge.  I  have  felt  this  to  be  one  of  the  most 


DESULTORY    STUDIES.  41 

unfortunate  defects  of  my  education  ever  since.  One  study 
fairly  mastered,  so  far  at  least  as  to  give  the  student  a  con 
nected  view  of  the  whole  ground  which  the  subject  covers, 
even  without  attaining  to  much  knowledge  of  details,  and 
then  another,  taken  up  and  pursued  in  the  same  way,— a  great 
deal  may  thus  be  preserved  in  the  mind  for  practical  use 
throughout  life. 

But  a  subject  only  half  developed  and  crowded  into  the 
mind  with  the  fragments  of  a  thousand  others,  leaves  no 
better  impression  than  one  gets  from  a  kaleidoscope,  whose 
forms  and  colors  amuse  for  the  moment,  but  fade  from  the 
memory  almost  as  soon  as  the  instrument  is  taken  from  the  eye. 
I  worked  hard  during  these  years  to  accomplish  myself  in 
a  whole  circle  of  science  and  learning.  I  studied  Greek  a 
whole  winter,  by  rising  before  daylight ;  I  read  Locke,  Hume, 
Robertson— all  the  essayists  and  poets,  and  many  of  the 
metaphysicians  ;  studied  Burke,  Taylor,  Barrow  •  worked  at 
chemistry,  geometry,  and  the  higher  mathematics,  although  I 
never  loved  them ;  made  copious  notes  on  all  the  subjects 
which  came  within  my  study  ;  sketched,  painted  (very  badly), 
read  French,  Spanish,  and  began  German ;  copied  large 
portions  of  Pope's  translations  of  Homer,  and  wrote  critical 
notes  upon  it  as  I  went  along  ;  in  short,  I  thoroughly  over 
worked  myself  through  a  number  of  years  in  these  pursuits, 
gaining  much  less  advantage  by  the  labor  than,  I  am  confident, 
I  could  have  secured  with  better  guidance, in  half  the  time. 
In  this  reference  to  my  studies,  I  have  run  somewhat  ahead 
of  the  due  course  of  my  narrative.  What  I  have  said  applies 
rather  to  my  college  life  than  to  that  period  when  I  was  under 
the  preparations  of  the  academy. 

Among  my  associates  of  this  early  time  was  John  Glenn, 
who  has  since  made  a  fortune  at  the  bar  of  Baltimore; 
William  Fulton,  who  died,  a  few  years  ago,  a  senator  in  the 
U.  S.  Senate  from  Arkansas ;  Levi  Pierce,  an  eminent  lawyer 
of  the  bar  of  New  Orleans.  There  were  others  who  came  to 
nothing. 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

It  was  about  the  year  1809  when  we  made  Shrub  Hill  our 
permanent  residence  ;  before  that  we  had   a  house  in   Balti 
more,  and  only  went  to  the  country  in  the  summer.     It  was 
after   our   removal    to    the    country    that   I   gave    myself   so 
assiduously  to  study.     Previous  to  that  time,  I  am  inclined  to 
believe.  I   was   very  thoughtless,  and  took  no  great  trouble 
upon  myself  for  any  good  end.     My  mother  was  in  delicate 
health  for  many  years  before  this,  and  travelled  a.  great  deal. 
My  brother  and  myself  were  her  constant  companions  on  these 
rambles.     Our  circuit  always  ended  at  Martinsburg,  where  I 
passed    a   month   or   two    always   in   the   hot  weather.     My 
grandmother  was  then  alive  and  took  great  delight  in  having 
my  mother  with  her.     The  family  in  Martinsburg  was  large ; 
my  mother's  eldest  sister,  Mrs.  Hunter,  lived  there  with  her 
husband,    Colonel    Hunter,    and    a   house    full   of    children. 
Philip    C.   Pendleton,  and  Edmund,  James   and  Henry,   all 
younger  than  my  mother,  were   at  home  ;  Sally  and  Maria, 
now  Mrs.  Dandridge  and  Mrs.  Ccoke,  were  very  young  then. 
I  remember  my  grandmother's  sister,  Mrs.  Ferguson,  an  old 
lady  who  used  to  come  in  from  the  country,  somewhere  near 
Martinsburg,  and  stay  a  few  days  at  a  time  with  us.     There 
was  occasionally  a  sickly  season  in  Berkeley,  and  several  of  us 
had  agues.     Mrs.  Ferguson  prescribed  a  cure  which  I  shall 
not  forget,   as  I  often  tried  it  in  company  with   the  other 
children.     It  was  this  :    There  was  a  large,  cold,  limestone 
spring,  on  the  margin  of  a  swamp  (which  I  believe  was  the 
chief  source  of  our  maladies),  about  two  hundred  yards  to  the 
rear  of  my  grandmother's  garden.     We  were  enjoined  to  get 
out  of  our  beds  at  sunrise,  throw  a  blanket  around  us,  and 
go  to  the  spring,  and  there  dip  up  the  water  in  the  hollow  of  the 
hand  nine  times  in  succession,  and  drink  it  each  time,  then  re 
turn  to  bed.     This  was  to  be  done  for  nine  mornings,  which  we, 
in  full  faith,  executed.    I  don't  remember  how  it  proved,  but  I  do 
remember  that  my  grandmother  used  to  make  us  drink  tansy 
bitters,  made,  I  think,  by  steeping  tansy  in  whiskey,  every 
morning   in   the    sickly   season   before   breakfast.      What   I 


VISITS    TO    VIRGINIA.  43 

disliked  a  great  deal  more  than  this,  she  more  than  once,  in  my 
experience,  put  us  through  a  course  of  Peruvian  bark,  which  was 
prepared,  when  her  patients  were  numerous,  in  a  coffee-pot, 
and  administered  every  two  hours,  sometimes  for  a  week  at  a 
time.  My  recollections  of  it  are  that  my  reluctance  was 
invincible  to  any  thing  but  her  threats. 

There  was  a  kind  old  dame  in  Martinsburg  who  was  one 
of  our  tutelary  saints,  old  Mammy  Phcebe — ^what  her  other  name 
was  I  have  never  heard.  I  think  she  had  been  General 
Stephens's  house-keeper.  She  made  apple-jack  expressly  for 
our  gratification ;  and  I  used  to  drive  a  team  of  four  boys  in 
twine  harness,  all  of  us  barefooted,  across  the  rough,  sharp, 
stony  hills  of  Martinsburg,  over  to  her  house  several  times 
a-day  to  get  the  apple-jack.  The  team  which  belonged  to 
this  line  was  different  from  other  teams,  in  the  essential 
point  that  the  horses  generally  chose  the  driver  by  vote,  and 
therefore  frequently  changed  the  executive,  sometimes  con 
verting  the  coachman  into  a  wheeler,  and  sometimes  promot 
ing  the  leader  to  the  box. 

There  was  a  family  of  Hannas  who  lived  a  few  miles  from 
Martinsburg,  relatives,  I  think,  of  my  grandmother.  There 
were  several  brothers  of  them,  and  I  believe  not  one  who  was 
not  over  six  feet  three  or  four  inches  in  height.  The  father  of 
these  had  a  little  farm  on  the  Tuscarara,  where  he  kept  a  school. 
To  this  school  I  used  to  go  with  some  of  my  comrades,  during 
my  long  summer  visit  to  Virginia.  One  thing  connected  with 
this  school  going,  I  recall,  is  the  extraordinary  desire  I  had 
to  go  barefoot.  My  journey  to  the  school  was  over  the  rough 
limestone,  which  is  particularly  severe  u-pon  the  toes,  and 
often  across  stubble  fields  in  preference  to  a  circuitous  road. 
The  whole  travel  was  painful  to  me,  and  yet  I  practised  many 
tricks  to  get  rid  of  my  shoes  every  day,  against  the  watchful 
ness  and  prohibition  of  my  mother.  Why  do  boys  dislike 
shoes  ? 


44 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


IT. 

My  college  life,  I  may  say,  began  in  1808,  when  I  was  thir 
teen  years  old,  and  ended  with  a  diploma  in  1812.  I  entered 
the  Baltimore  College  at  its  first  establishment.  Previous  to 
this  I  had  been  a  pupil  in  Sinclair's  Academy,  which  had  form 
ed  a  union  with  that  of  Samuel  Knox,  both  in  Baltimore.  Sin 
clair  held  the  charter  for  the  college,  and  this  union  with  Knox 
was  made  with  a  view  to  carrying  the  two  academies  into  the 
college,  which  was  accordingly  organized  under  the  direction 
of  a  board  of  trustees,  with  Knox  as  president,  and  Sinclair  as 
vice-president.  The  college  buildings  were  provided  for  by 
the  grant  of  a  lottery,  and  were  erected  nearly  opposite  the 
Cathedral.  I  think  it  was  about  1810  when  these  buildings 
were  finished  for  our  reception.  In  the  mean  time,  that  is  for 
two  years,  we  assembled  in  Knox's  Academy  rooms,  in  what 
was  then  called  Chatham  Street,  now  Fayette  Street,  at  the  cor 
ner  of  McClellan's  Alley. 

I  have  no  pleasant  recollections  of  Knox.  He  was  an 
Irish  Presbyterian  clergyman, — a  large,  coarse,  austere  man, 
with  an  offensive  despotism  in  his  character  which  not  only 
repelled  all  love,  but  begat  universal  fear  and  dislike  among 
the  boys.  He  was  not  much  of  a  scholar  either,  I  should  say, 
and  was  far  from  successful  as  a  teacher.  In  fact,  the  boys 
under  his  charge  made  but  little  progress  even  in  the  rough 
work  of  study,  and  were  left  altogether  uninstructed  in  those 
matters  of  taste  and  nice  criticism  which  I  hold  to  be  indis- 
pensible  to  the  object  of  creating  a  fondness  for  study  in  youth 
ful  minds.  There  are  few  boys  whose  fancy  may  not  be  awa 
kened  to  the  perception  of  something  agreeable  in  scholastic 
study,  by  proper  culture  from  their  preceptor,  and  who  will 
thus  be  led  to  take  an  interest  in  the  routine  of  their  college 
duties.  But  every  thing  with  Knox  seemed  to  be  done  in  the 
most  repulsive  manner.  We  hurried  through  recitation  before 
him  at  a  gallop,  saying  what  was  set  down  for  us,  or  seem 
ing  to  say  it,  when  he  ran  on  ahead  of  us,  unconsciously  read- 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  4r<> 

ing  out  the  whole  lesson  sometimes,  as  if  in  a  hurry  to  be  done 
with  it.  He  had  no  pleasantries  by  the  way,  no  explanations, 
no  appeals  to  our  own  perceptions  of  an  author's  merits. 
Thus  we  measured  off  Virgil  and  Homer  by  the  yard,  as  rapid 
ly  and  as  recklessly  as  we  should  have  measured  so  much 
tape. 

Sinclair's  mode  of  teaching  was  different.  He  was  kind, 
gentle,  disposed  sometimes  to  raillery  and  fun  ;  gave  us  little 
anecdotes,  somewhat  stereotyped,  by  the  way,  of  the  authors  we 
were  reading.  But  boys  are  good  judges  of  a  sympathizing, 
genial  temper,  and  always  appreciate  it.  We  had  a  positive 
pleasure  in  deceiving  Knox,  by  slighting  a  lesson  and  mum 
bling  over  any  thing  that  might  pass  for  a  recitation  before  him  ; 
whilst  we  never  attempted  such  a  thing  with  Sinclair.  He 
used  to  make  excuses  for  our  failures  or  neglects,  and  say  so 
many  kind  things  to  extenuate  our  faults,  that  we  were  actual 
ly  ashamed  to  come  to  his  recitation  in  an  unprepared  state. 

In  the  four  years  of  my  college  career,  I  went  through  the 
usual  course  of  Latin  and  Greek  authors ;  a  short  and  imper 
fect  system  of  mathematics,  in  which  I  took  the  smallest  inter 
est  ;  some  physical  science  done  up  in  a  very  meagre  volume ; 
and  along  with  these  a  barren  and  absurd  scheme  of  logic  in 
Latin,  and  some  incomprehensible  metaphysics.  French,  I  ac- 
•quired  with  considerable  accuracy,  could  speak  and  write  it 
tolerably  well.  I  got  some  little  Spanish  also,  though  not 
much;  and  as  an  embellishment  to  this  fund  of  solid  learning, 
I  was  taught  to  dance.  Music  I  had  none. 

My  French  teacher  was  Guerin,  a  thin,  active,  swarthy, 
bony,  impulsive,  voracious  Frenchman,  who  had  been  a  con 
script  with  Bonaparte,  and  had  got  his  skull  cracked  by  a  sa 
bre  at  Hohenlinden  with  Moreau.  I  say  voracious,  with  refer 
ence  to  his  appetite,  for  he  ate  with  a  most  abnormal  fury, 
and  never  grew  a  pound  fatter  by  it.  But  he  was  the  most  in 
dustrious  and  severe  working  man  I  ever  saw,  and  took  infi 
nite  pains  with  his  class. 

He  was  a  familiar  inmate  in  Mr.  Pascault's  family.     This 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY'. 

gentleman  was  a  French  merchant  of  Baltimore,  wealthy  and 
greatly  esteemed,  and  kept  a  most  agreeable  household,  where 
I  used  to  go  almost  daily  with  Louis  and  Frank,  his  two  sons, 
who  were  my  school  companions,  and  with  whom  Guerin  was 
always  a  party  when  we  had  any  amusement  afoot.  It  was 
one  of  our  common  sports  to  catch  bullfrogs  in  Mr.  Pascault's 
fish-pond,  and  have  them  cooked  by  Mamma  Kitty,  Mr.  P.'s 
old  house-keeper. 

The  sisters  of  Louis  and  Frank  were  very  beautiful.  The 
oldest  of  them,  Henrietta,  who  was  an  intimate  friend  of  my 
mother's,  had  married  General  Rubell,  when  he  and  Jerome 
Bonaparte  came  to  Baltimore  in  1803.  Miss  Pascault  and 
Miss  Patterson  were  then  distinguished  belles  in  our  society. 
Rubell  and  Jerome,  then  both  very  young,  and  fellow  officers 
in  the  French  navy,  had  come  to  Baltimore  together.  They 
both  married  at  this  time.  Jerome's  match  with  Miss  Pat 
terson  gave  great  offence  to  his  brother,  and  the  marriage  was 
annulled  in  1805  ;  Rubell's,  of  course,  was  not  assailed.  At 
the  time  of  my  intimacy  in  Mr.  Pascault's  family,  Rubell  had 
fallen  under  the  Emperor's  displeasure,  and  was  now  here  in 
exile,  living  in  a  small  house  belonging  to  his  father-in-law,  and 
on  the  same  ground  where  the  old  gentleman  lived.  The 
other  daughters  of  Mr.  Pascault  were  near  my  own  age,  Eleo- 
nora  and  Josephine,  with  whom  I  was  in  daily  intercourse. 

Eleonora  married  my  schoolmate,  Columbus  O'Donnell, 
and  is  now  the  mother  of  a  large  family.  Josephine  is  the 
wife  of  Albert  Gallatin,  of  New  York,  son  of  the  famous  Al 
bert,  Mr.  Madison's  Secretary  of  the  Treasury. 

Guerin  was  a  favorite  with  this  family,  and  still  more  a  fa 
vorite  with  his  class.  In  1812  or  13  he  went  to  the  West;  and 
the  last  I  ever  saw  of  him  was  in  that  year,  1813,  in  Baltimore, 
making  arrangements  to  publish  a  Life  of  Col.  Joseph  Hamil 
ton  Daviess  of  Kentucky,  who  had  just  been  killed  at  the  bat 
tle  of  Tippecanoe.  It  seems  that  Guerin  had  gone  to  Ken 
tucky  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  war,  and  undertaken  to  teach 
a  class  the  art  of  war,  military  discipline,  fencing,  etc.,  in  view 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  47 

of  the  martial  state  of  the  times,  and  that  Daviess  had  been 
one  of  his  pupils.  What  became  of  Guerin  after  this  I  never 
heard. 

The  college  course  of  study  was  that  usually  adopted  in 
other  institutions  of  the  same  kind, — a  long  probation  of  Latin 
and  Greek,  and  a  very  superficial  study  of  every  thing  else. 

It  took  four  years  to  go  through  the  course  of  study  ne 
cessary  for  a  diploma.  Mine  was  the  first  class  that  graduated 
after  the  organization  of  the  College,  and,  as  it  happened,  was 
a  very  small  one.  The  graduates  were  John  Glenn,  James 
Mosher,  William  Fulton,  Robert  Wilson  and  myself. 

Glenn  and  Fulton  I  have  already  spoken  of.  Mosher  was 
wild  and  dissipated,  went  to  Paris  and  ruined  his  health,  came 
home,  married  and  died — a  short  career — perhaps  not  over 
five-and-twenty. 

During  my  college  career,  and  before  that  period  from  an 
early  day  in  my  youth,  I  was  in  the  habit  of  appropriating  a 
portion  of  every  Sunday  to  religious  .studies,  which  consisted, 
in  part,  in  writing  extracts  from  the  Scriptures,  and  the  finest 
passages  I  found  in  theological  writers.  I  had  note  books 
for  these  purposes,  and  took  great  pleasure  in  this  occupation. 
I  think  I  may  say  my  mind  had  a  decided  inclination  towards 
theological  study;  and,  with  a  good  deal  of  thoughtlessness, 
and  tendency  towards  more  imaginative  speculation,  I  had  a 
devout  spirit,  and  a  profound  reverence  in  the  contemplation 
of  the  nature  of  God  and  the  duties  which  belong  to  our 
relations  to  him.  With  the  usual  share,  therefore,  of  the  faults 
of  boys,  and  more  than  a  usual  share,  I  fear,  of  their  follies, 
I  had  a  tender  conscience  against  my  transgressions,  and 
abundance  of  good  intentions  to  amend  my  life.  Perhaps 
this  may  be  regarded  as  among  the  hopeful  qualities  of  youth, 
giving  promise  of  better  things  when  reflection  ripens  and  the 
passions  subside.  I  was  always  very  humble  in  my  estimate 
of  my  own  moral  qualities ;  was  shy  and  reserved  in  the  little 
society  I  saw ;  was  addicted  to  study  ;  secretly  proud  of  some 
little  faculty  I  had  for  writing,  and  remembered  well  and  long 


48  LIFE    OF  JOHN    r.  KENNEDY. 

and  gratefully  the  slightest  praise  I  ever  heard  of  myself,  for 
this  accomplishment  With  such  a  temper  I  was  a  castle- 
builder,  and  was  constantly  absorbed  in  some  fancy  of  enter 
prise  and  ambition — having  it  all  pretty  much  to  myself. 

I  wrote  a  farce  once,  I  forget  its  name,  but  it  was  played 
by  my  comrades  in  some  of  our  holidays.  I  wrote,  also,  a 
little  volume  of  travel,  altogether  a  fiction,  in  Spitzbergen,  and 
thought  I  had  accomplished  something  very  excellent.  I  wrote 
many  letters  in  the  way  of  friendly  correspondence  with  my 
relatives  in  Virginia.  With  one,  an  aunt,  the  whole  was  in 
French.  These  letters  were  conceited  enough  in  the  way  of 
advice  and  in  the  effort  to  be  witty.  I  suspect  this  because  I 
had  such  an  admiration  of  "  Tristram  Shandy  "  and  the  "  Senti 
mental  Journey."  But  I  know  I  wrote  a  great  many  things  in 
what  I  thought  the  same  vein — the  pages  filled  with  dashes, 
and  an  imitation  of  that  eccentric  transition,  and  the  paren 
theses,  and  the  personal  conjuration  of  the  reader,  which  are 
to  be  found  in  all  of  Sterne's  books. 

What  a  confused  jumble  of  crude  fancies,  of  imperfect 
acquisitions  and  fragmentary  knowledge,  of  forces  dissipated 
for  want  of  order,  of  queer  conceits,  and  with  rhapsodies  that 
I  thought  at  the  time  were  quite  brilliant  discoveries  or 
inventions,  of  errors  hard  studied  and  deeply  imbedded  in  the 
mind !  What  formidable  difficulties  from  these  have  I  had  to 
struggle  against  through  all  the  rest  of  my  life ;  unravelling 
what  I  had  knitted  up  with  so  much  care  !  It  is  a  hard 
condition  that  we  do  not  come  to  the  perception  of  what 
really  constitutes  good  education  until  it  has  been  almost 
impossible  by  the  lapse  of  time,  or  by  the  impediment  of 
what  we  have  learned  amiss. 

Before  I  quit  my  school  days,  I  must  notice  some  of  the 
pleasures  which  belonged  to  that  period.  I  was,  with  the 
great  majority  of  boys,  addicted  to  the  amusements  which  are 
to  be  found  in  the  open  air.  I  was  taught  to  ride  from  the 
time  when  my  legs  could  span  a  saddle.  I  do  not  remember 
when  I  could  not  ride  on  horseback.  My  father  was  fond  of 


RECREATIONS. 

horses,  and,  in  his  lowest  estate,  -had  his  carriage.  I  believe 
I  have  never  been  without  a  horse  in  any 'single  year  from 
the  time  when  I  was  five  years  old  up  to  the  present  day.  A 
boy  acquires  great  confidence  and  indeed  utter  fearlessness 
in  his  saddle  under  such  training.  I  can  remember  old  Sam, 
our  coachman,  holding  me  by  one  hand,  as  he  led  a  favorite 
horse  of  my  father's  while  I  was  perched  on  his  back.  This 
often  occurred  when  the  horse  was  to  be  taken  to  the  stable, 
upon  my  father's  coming  home  from  a  ride. 

After  my -father's  misfortune  in  business,  and  when  Shrub 
Hill  became  our  permanent  residence,  my  brother  Andrew 
and  I  had  a  pony  in  common,  which  we  used  to  ride  in  town 
in  bad  weather,  often  both  together.  Sometimes  we  had  a 
gig  to  take  us  in  to  school,  with  a  servant,  but  we  preferred 
double  riding  on  our  pony.  Mr.  Pascault's  family  resided 
about  half  way  between  our  house  and  town,  and  as  we 
passed  his  door,  Frank,  his  son,  who  was  a  school-mate  of 
ours,  used  often  to  wait  for  us  and  insist  upon  making  a  third 
passenger  on  the  pony's  back,  riding,  as  Frank  called  it, 
ship-shape. 

When  the  regular  August  holiday  arrived,  I  used  to  take 
my  horse,  and,  getting  some  thirty  or  forty  dollars  from  my 
father,  set  out  upon  a  journey  to  Virginia ;  first  to  Martins- 
burg  or  The  Bower,  where  my  uncle  Dandridge  lived,  and 
thence  into  the  mountains,  sometimes  to  Berkeley  Springs, 
sometimes  to  other  quarters.  It  was  an  expedition  of 
unmixed  delight  to  me,  to  get  off  on  these  excursions.  My 
horse  sure-  ooted,  my  valise  packed  to  plethora,  strapped 
upon  the  pad,  with  thirty  dollars — an  immense  sum  of  money— 
in  my  pocket.  With  such  a  light  heart,  such  a  confident 
hand,  and  such  a  head  so  stuffed  with  visions  of  pleasure, 
and,  I  may  add,  with  such  an  appetite  as  utterly  abrogated  all 
fastidiousness  of  accommodation,  it  was  the  perfection  of 
enjoyment  to  me,  to  ramble  in  this  wise  through  the  mountains. 
I  have  always  had  such  a  vivid  relish  for  country  scenery, 
such  a  keen  perception  of  the  beauty  of  landscape,  that  my 
3 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

delight  in  these  journeys  was  of  the  highest  artistic  character, 
and  for  years  afterwards  I  could  sketch  pretty  well,  from 
memory  alone,  the  scenes  I  had  witnessed. 

This  early  habit  of  rambling,  and  the  distinctness  of  the 
impressions  made  upon  me  by  scenery,  I  am  not  wrong  in  be 
lieving,  have  given  me  a  very  decided  skill  in  woodcraft.  I 
am  now,  as  I  have  always  been,  singularly  accurate  in  my 
knowledge  of  localities.  I  never  lose  my  road,  however  diffi 
cult  it  may  be,  when  travelling  through  forest  or  over  mount 
ains  if,  at  starting,  I  know  the  point  of  the  compass  to  which 
my  journey  leads.  Among  the  thousand  intricacies  of  a 
new  country,  I  seldom  fail, to  thread  my  way  with  complete 
success.  I  never  forget  a  spot  I  have  once  visited,  and  have 
often  found  myself  picturing  to  my  mind  with  remarkable  cer 
tainty,  scenes  ahead  of  me  in  my  journey,  recalled  to  me  by 
objects  in  view,  when  I  could  not  at  all  recall  to  my  recollec 
tions  any  trace  of  the  time  when  I  had  before  journeyed  there. 
I  mean  that  I  have  often  found  myself  recognizing  scenery, 
when  I  had  no  knowledge  of  ever  having  visited  it  at  a  for 
mer  date.  These  were  places,  doub'Jess,  through  which  I  had 
travelled  in  infancy,  and  their  features  were  remembered  after 
all  other  associations  with  them  were  forgotten. 

The  same  faculty  or  characteristic  of  mind  which  made  me 
fond  of  travel,  attached  me,  though  in  a  less  degree,  to  field 
sports.  Having  a  gun  always,  with  the  proper  equipments,  I 
was  a  sportsman — but  never  a  good  shot,  and  I  think  I  may 
affirm  that  I  found  more  pleasure  in  the  ramble  than  in  the 
pursuit  of  the  game.  All  the  boys  among  my  family  con 
nections  in  Virginia  were,  or  affected  to  be,  inveterate  hunt 
ers  ;  and,  in  imitation  of  them,  I  hunted  pheasants  and  tur 
keys  and  partridges — not  the  most  lucky  of  the  parties  with 
which  I  was  associated.  In  the  same  spirit,  and  I  think  with 
more  zest,  I  was  a  fisherman  ;  but  still  I  confess  that  all 
these  occupations  were  subordinate  to  the  interest  I  took  in 
the  scenery,  and  the  country  life  with  which  these  amuse 
ments  were  connected.  I  was  ever  in  the  pursuit  of  the  pict- 


RECREATIONS.  51 

uresque,  and  found  more  enjoyment  in  sketching  a  party  of 
gunners  or  fishermen  than  in  aiding  them  to  take  their  prey. 

I  need  hardly  say  that  the  stage  was  one  of  my  great  de 
lights.  All  boys  love  that  magnificent  tinsel  illusion.  I  was 
greatly  curbed  by  my  father  and  mother,  in  my  younger  days, 
in  this  pleasure.  I  was  allowed  to  go  to  the  theatre  not  above 
twice  a  season.  But  there  was  the  circus,  and  the  rope- 
dancers,  and  the  jugglers  besides,  to  which  I  was  also  spar 
ingly  admitted,  the  whole  affording  me  in  the  year  a  rapture 
that  made  me  many  idle  hours — for  a  play  once  seen  by  a 
boy,  has  to  be  digested  ;  that  is  to  say,  it  has  to  be  talked 
over  with  his  comrades  in  all  and  sundry  of  its  scenes,  dia 
logues,  jokes  and  startling  passages,  about  one  thousand  times 
before  it  is  quietly  stowed  away  in  the  memory.  Old  Jeffer 
son,  old  Blisset,  old  Warner,  old  Wood — every  player  was  old  if 
he  was  a  favorite  with  the  boys.  We  remembered  them  in 
every  wink,  shrug,  poke  in  the  ribs,  or  caper  of  any  kind 
whatever  which  they  had  ever  made  in  a  play  we  had  seen ; 
and  we,  of  course,  acted  all  such  gesticulations  over  again  un 
til  the  fountain  of  our  mirth  had  gone  dry  from  the  excessive 
draughts  upon  it.  These  were  some  of  the  chief  actors  in  my 
earliest  memory.  They  are  all  gone  now  but  Wood,  unless 
Blisset  be  alive,  as  I  have  heard  he  was  not  long  ago,  in  the 
Isle  of  Man,  where  he  retired  many  years  since. 

Cooke,  the  great  tragedian — George  Frederick — came  to 
Baltimore  whilst  I  was  at  college,  I  think.  I  saw  him  several 
times,  drunk  and  sober.  He  played  Richard,  and  Pierre  and 
lago,  and  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  and  some  other  parts  in  which 
I  saw  him.  The  crowd  was  so  great  at  that  time  at  the  the 
atre  door,  and  the  interest  to  see  his  performance  so  intense, 
that  the  managers  opened  the  pit  at  four  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon  to  such  as  wished  to  get  in,  and  there  I  have  gone  at 
that  hour  to  get  a  good  seat,  and  waited  till  seven  for  the  per 
formance.  Cooke,  when  I  saw  him,  was  an  old  man,  and  very 
intemperate,  but  a  great  actor. 

It  was  not  long  after  Cooke  had  gone  away  that  Incledon, 


52  LIFE   OF   JOHN   T.  KENNEDY. 

the  celebrated  singer,  made  a  visit  to  this  country.  I  heard 
him  in  several  of  the  old  English  operas.  I  particularly  re 
member  him  singing  "  The  Lads  of  the  Village,"  and  "  Cease 
Rude  Boreas."  He  appeared  to  me  to  be  nearly  seventy  years 
old.  After  him  we  had  Edmund  Kean  and  Braham — some 
years,  perhaps,  later.  Kean  must  have  been  here  in  1818  or 
1819.  I  saw  him  in  all  his  best  characters. 

I  remember  two  of  my  early  school-time  journeys  with 
more  distinctness  than  others.  I  suppose  I  must  have  been 
fourteen,  when  my  father,  having  need  of  some  official  paper 
from  Annapolis,  sent  me  there  to  get  it  for  him.  It  was  about 
the  end  of  May,  and  I  was  equipped  with  the  proper  furniture 
for  a  horseback  ride.  In  those  days  there  was  no  steamboat, 
and  the  stage  had  a  bad  road  to  travel  which  always  took  the 
whole  day.  Most  people  then  travelled  between  Baltimore  and 
Annapolis  by  private  conveyance.  I  was  well  mounted,  and 
set  out  after  dinner  to  ride  to  the  half-way  house,  a  little  cot 
tage-like  inn,  near  the  crossing  of  the  Severn,  kept  by  a 
widow,  Mrs.  Urquhart — Mrs.  Orchard,  as  she  was  commonly 
called.  Here  I  spent  the  night  and  rode  into  Annapolis  the 
next  morning.  I  soon  despatched  my  business  there  and 
again  set  out,  after  dinner,  travelling  to  another  house  some  two 
or  three  miles  nearer  to  Baltimore  than  Mrs.  Urquhart's.  I 
think  it  was  then  kept  by  Walsh,  a  very  mean  place,  better 
known  afterwards  as  Plummer's.  Here  I  found  a  party  of 
travellers,  young  men,  from  different  directions,  accidentally 
met.  The  spot  was  a  dreary  one,  and  one  of  this  party  pro 
posed,  as  a  pastime,  that  we  should  make  a  game  of  loo,  to 
which  we  all  agreed.  The  play  was  very  small — six  and  a 
quarter  cents  for  the  deal,  and  twenty-five  for  the  loo.  We 
had  shelled  corn  for  counters,  and  towards  midnight  I  won 
a  large  pile,  after  which  we  broke  up  play.  My  winnings 
were  nearly  three  dollars.  I  was  horribly  disturbed  by  it — such 
a  sum,  such  rank  gambling  !  I  did  not  know  whether  I  ought 
to  keep  it  or  not.  Hadn't  I  better  return  the  money  ?  What 
would  my  mother  think  of  such  enormous  gambling  ?  Should 


YOUTHFUL   JOURNEYS.  53 

I  tell  her  of  it  when  I  got  home  or  keep  it  secret?  What 
should  I  do  with  the  money  ?  I  had  a  thousand  perplexities 
about  this  unhappy  gain.  I  believe  I  made  it  a  profound  se 
cret.  Never  mentioned  it  to  my  father  or  mother,  for  fear  it 
would  shock  them.  Yet  I  was  manifestly  pleased  with  this 
piece  of  good  fortune.  Many  a  man  has  taken  an  evil  ply  to 
wards  gaming  upon  as  slight  a  provocation  as  this.  I  re 
solved,  however,  in  consideration  of  this  flagrant  excess,  never 
to  think  of  cards,  at  least  never  to  play  as  high  as  three  dollars 
again. 

My  other  journey  was  later,  perhaps  in  1811.  It  was  an 
August  holiday,  when  I  mounted  my  pony  to  make  a  visit  to 
the  Natural  Bridge,  and  my  father  finding  me  set  that  way, 
gave  me  instructions  to  go  to  Lexington  and  Lynchburg  to 
look  after  some  debts  that  were  due  him  in  those  places.  For 
some  reason,  which  ]  forget,  I  did  not  go  to  the  Bridge,  but 
did  travel  to  the  two  towns  above  mentioned.  There  was  a 
gentleman  named  Moore  in  Lexington  who  owed  my  father 
money,  and  who  made  some  settlement  with  me  ;  but  I  do  not 
now  remember  what  occasion  took  me  to  Lynchburg.  But 
when  I  arrived  there,  there  was  an  old  gentleman  whose  name 
I  have  forgotten,  living  in  the  hotel  at  which  I  stopped,  and 
who  casually  hearing  my  name,  introduced  himself  to  me,  and 
soon  satisfied  himself  that  I  was  the  son  of  an  old  acquaint 
ance  of  his.  He  was,  I  think,  a  bachelor,  and  was  the  cashier 
of  a  bank  in  Lynchburg.  However,  he  told  me  that  when  he 
was  a  young  man  setting  out  in  life  my  father  had  been  very 
kind  to  him,  and  had  lent  him  money  when  he  was  greatly  in 
need  of  it ;  that  he  had  had  bad  fortune  in  the  world,  until 
he  had  got  this  post  in  the  bank,  which  enabled  him  to  save  a 
little  money ;  that  finding  himself  able  to  do  this,  he  had 
never  forgotten  my  father's  debt,  but  had  been  making  provis 
ion  for  it.  The  debt  was  so  old,  and,  as  my  father  supposed, 
so  hopeless,  that  he  had  lost  sight  of  it.  I  don't  know  how 
many  years  had  passed  over  it,  but  the  old  gentleman  took  me 
to  his  room,  where,  with  a  great  many  kind  and  grateful  rem- 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

iniscences  of  my  father,  he  made  a  statement  of  his  account, 
summing  up  a  long  arrear  of  interest,  and  paid  me  between 
six  and  seven  hundred  dollars,  being  every  penny  due  unto 
that  day.  This  incident  gave  a  fine  zest  to  my  journey,  and  I 
travelled  across  the  mountain  on  my  homeward  route  with  the 
lightest  heart  that  ever  a  boy  carried.  I  never  cared  to  take 
the  high  roads,  if  I  could  find  some  rough  mountain  path  to 
lead  me  to  my  journey's  end.  On  my  return  from  Lynchburg, 
taking  the  direction  of  Lexington,  which  required  me  to  cross 
the  Blue  Ridge,  I  was  directed  to  some  mountain  gap  of  a 
very  wild  and  picturesque  character.  It  happened,  as  I  toiled 
over  a  broken  road,  scarcely  practicable  to  my  horse,  that  in 
descending  the  mountain  about  noon,  I  had  halted  at  a  fence 
before  a  rude  log-cabin,  which  was  in  the  midst  of  a  corn-field, 
to  inquire  my  way.  My  inquiry  was  answered  by  a  very  jo 
vial  voice  from  within  the  cabin,  and  in  a  moment  I  saw  in  the 
door  before  me  a  pleasant,  kindly-faced,  middle-aged  gentle 
man  in  a  light  sursuckcr  coat,  with  very  much  the  air  of  a  bon- 
mvant.  "  You  must  get  down,"  said  he,  "  and  get  your  dinner, 
and  then  I'll  tell  you  the  road.  There  is  no  house  within 
eight  or  ten  miles  where  you  can  find  a  mouthful.  The  day 
is  hot,  and  I  know  you  are  hungry.  Come !  get  down,  get 
down,  no  parleying  about  it."  So,  of  course,  I  dismounted, 
and  this  good  gentleman  taking  possession  of  my  horse  hand 
ed  him  over  to  a  servant  to  be  put  in  the  stable  and  fed. 

When  I  came  into  the  cabin,  which  in  all  externals  was  of 
the  most  ordinary  character  anywhere  in  Virginia,  I  found  a 
little  piece  of  carpet  on  the  floor,  a  hanging  book-shelf  with 
a  number  of  books  on  it,  and  among  other  evidences  of  a 
person  of  better  condition  than  might  be  expected  in  such  a 
habitation,  there  were  to  be  seen  a  fine  double-barrelled  gun 
and  the  equipment  belonging  to  it,  and  a  pair  of  first-rate 
pointers,  if  I  might  judge  from  their  appearance  and  behavior. 

My  host  introduced  himself  to  me  as  Mr.  Farrar,  and  find 
ing  that  I  was  from  Baltimore,  asked  me  a  hundred  questions 
about  many  friends  there.  How  was  Alick  Boyd,  Kit  Hughes, 


MILITARY   AS  FIXATIONS.  55 

Ned  A—  -  — many  others  known  to  our  gayest  circles  of  so 
ciety.  He  told  me  he  had  studied  law  with  General  Harper, 
and  had  come  to  this  mountain  region  to  try  his  hand  at  a  set 
tlement.  He  made  some  delicious  toddy  for  me,  and  then 
went  to  work  himself  and  cooked  some  partridges  he  had  shot 
and  gave  me  a  delightful  dinner,  and  afterwards  set  me  on  my 
way  with  a  renewed  joyousness.  •  How  captivating  were  such 
adventures  to  me  then  !  Sunshine  and  rain,  night  and  day, 
time  and  tide  were  all  alike.  There  was  a  radiance  at  the 
heart  which  gilded  all  without,  and  gave  equal  splendor  to  ev 
ery  phase  of  the  landscape. 

Before  I  graduated  at  college,  which  was  in  September 
1812,  the  war  with  England  broke  out.  It  is  called  "the  late 
war,"  by  all  the  men  of  that  time,  though  now  a  long  way  off, 
and  there  having  been  several  Indian  wars  and  our  Mexican 
War  since.  The  country  had  been  gradually  "  preparing  its 
heart  for  war  " — as  General  Cass's  phrase  in  the  Senate  has 
it — for  some  years  previous,  ever  since  the  affair  of  "The 
Chesapeake."  In  this  growth  of  martial  ardor,  I,  of  course  had 
a  fair  share,  and  this  will  explain  my  devotion  to  the  science 
of  fortification  and  field  engineering  of  which  I  have  spoken. 
I  had  fully  made  up  my  mind,  a  year  before  the  war  was  de 
clared,  that  I  would  endeavor  to  get  into  the  army,  and  in  this 
hope  had  applied  myself  to  all  kinds  of  military  studies.  I 
was  sensible  of  one  great  disqualification,  as  I  thought,  for  an 
officer,  and  that  was  a  superstitious  dread  of  darkness.  I  had 
been  disturbed  in  my  youth  by  ghost  stories  and  the  thou 
sand  inveterate  horrors  with  which  they  assail  and  weaken  the 
mind  of  infancy.  How  admirably  has  Charles  Lamb  painted 
these  "  night  fears"  of  children  !  I  had  exemplified  in  my  own 
experience  and  manifold  sufferings,  the  truth  of  those  pictures 
through  all  the  early  stages  of  my  boyhood.  How  trembling 
ly  did  I  cover  up  my  head  in  the  bedclothes  when  my  candle 
was  put  out !  What  faith  I  had  in  the  supernatural  interference 
of  spirits  with  our  worldly  concerns  !  I  have  heard  their  shrieks 
in  the  wind  many  a  time  in  a  winter  night,  and  have  shivered 


50  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

in  a  cold  sweat  beneath  all  my  blankets  ;  and  I  have  often 
seen  queer  little  old  men,  and  fantastic  women  dancing  in  my 
chamber, — and  now,  when  I  had  grown  old  enough  and  wise 
enough  to  know  that  these  were  mere  illusions,  I  could  not 
divest  myself  of  my  childish  fright,  at  the  creations  of  my  own 
imagination,  when  it  painted  these  terrible  images  on  the  broad 
canvass  of  midnight.  Sadly  perplexed  by  this  infirmity,  and 
ashamed  of  it  as  a  thing  incompatible  with  my  aspirations  to 
wards  a  soldier's  life,  I  resolutely  determined  to  get  rid  of  it. 
I  never  confessed  my  weakness  to  any  one,  but  communed 
with  myself  so  gravely  upon  it,  that  I  account  it  a  piece  of  brave 
self-discipline,  which  finally  enabled  me,  alone,  without  counsel 
or  support  of  friends,  to  reform  so  deeply-rooted  an  evil  of 
my  temperament.  To  accomplish  this,  my  first  point  of  regi 
men  was  to  place  myself  in  such  conditions  as  would  put  my 
self-command  to  the  severest  defiance.  I  accordingly  rose  at 
midnight,  and  often  rambled  about  till  daylight.  Shrub  Hill 
lay  then  upon  the  border  of  a  large  tract  of  woodland,  which, 
extending  westward  for  two  or  three  miles,  was  intersected  by 
brooks,  girt  with  rocks  and  briars,  and  occasionally  marked  by 
morasses.  I  wandered  through  this  wood  for  hours,  often  when 
it  was  so  dark  that  I  could  not  see  my  hand  before  me.  I  had 
some  startling  accidents  now  and  then  in  this  career,  and  I  can 
remember  that  I  sometimes  sang  aloud,  to  assure  myself  that  I 
was  not  greatly  alarmed — rather  a  doubtful  proof  I  am  aware. 
But  in  the  end  I  triumphed,  and  I  have  often  laughed  since  to 
think  how  certainly  I  would  have  been  regarded  as  a  crazy  boy, 
if  any  one  had  detected  me  in  these  vagaries.  I  could  have  given 
no  acceptable  reason  or  plausible  excuse  for  such  strange  ac 
tions,  and  must  have  been  set  down  as  one  incurably  weak  of 
head.  But  I  fortunately  kept  my  secret,  and  escaped  the  mor 
tification  I  might  have  met.  Brave  as  I  was  in  this  discipline,  I 
have  had  my  hair  to  stand  on  end,  on  stumbling  over  a  cow  in 
the  darkness,  and  on  finding  a  tall  clump  of  white  flowers  and 
weeds  passing  over  the  range  of  my  dim  vision,  when  I  had 
been  struggling  through  a  thicket.  Odd  enough  to  note  what 


COLLEGE    SOCIETY.  57 

fancies  may  secretly  possess  a  boy  at  that  time  of  life,  and  how 
earnestly  he  will  pursue  them.  I  was  very  happy  in  it  all, 
for  I  felt  conscious  I  was  achieving  a  valuable  triumph  over  a 
defect  in  my  early  nurture. 

We  had  a  debating  society  in  Baltimore  College,  to  which 
we  attached  great  importance.  I  continued  a  member  of  it 
for  some  years  after  I  graduated.  Some  of  the  members  were 
promising  young  men,  and  all  of  them  quite  respectable. 
Grafton  Dulany  was  an  admirable  debater.  Richard  Gill, 
Glenn,  Fulton,  Levi  Pierce,  Bailey,  who  lives,  I  think,  at  Lew- 
isburg  in  Virginia,  Wiseman — I  don't  know  what  has  become 
of  him  :  these  were  members,  though  not  all  of  them  scholars 
of  the  college.  We  had  themes  proposed  to  write  upon,  top 
ics  assigned  for  debate — all  the  usual  exercises  of  such  socie 
ties.  I  have  great  faith  in  such  societies.  They  afford  fine 
stimulus  to  young  minds,  and  often  develop  a  great  deal  of 
unsuspected  talent.  They  promote  careful  study,  good  man 
ners,  and  generous  emulation,  and  have  singular  efficiency  in 
teaching  oratory,  which  is  so  much  improved  by  intellectual 
collisions.  Finley  was  an  active  member,  and  was  inclined  to 
be  political  in  his  management.  We  broke  into  parties  like 
parliamentary  bodies,  and  sometimes  grew  excited  and  seyere, 
like  our  betters.  The  election  of  a  president  for  the  society 
awakened  eager  partisanship,  and  often  gave  rise  to  intrigues  ; 
and  in  one  case  Glenn  was  challenged  by  a  young  man 
named  Spaulding  for  blackballing  him  upon  an  allegation  of 
a  want  of  qualification.  What  a  miniature  theatre  of  pertur 
bation,  and  how  like  the  larger  one  of  political  life  !  The  in 
stincts  of  the  boy  in  such  a  field  are  just  those  of  the  man. 
But  with  all  these  drawbacks,  the  debating  society  is  a  most 
effective  teacher  of  manliness,  self-respect  and  independent 
opinion,  not  less  than  of  a  great  deal  of  useful  acquirement, 
which  boys  turn  to  good  account  in  after  life.  I  don't  know 
how  many  addresses,  speeches,  constitutions,  protests,  remon 
strances  and  other  productions  of  the  state-paper  kind,  I  wrote 
during  my  attachment  to  the  society,  but  I  know  I  had  a  port- 


58  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KEXNKDY. 

folio  full  of  these  which  I  treasured  up  for  years  with  a  pride 
of  authorship  I  have  never  felt  since.  I  am  sure  that  my  ca 
pability  for  the  same  kind  of  writing  and  speaking,  when  I 
found  myself  engaged  in  the  business  of  life  afterwards,  was 
very  sensibly  improved  by  the  discipline  of  my  youth. 

Judge  Hollingsworth — Zebulon,  or  Zeb  Hollingsworth  as 
everybody  called  him ;  had  his  family  residence,  at  this  time, 
on  the  high  ground  above  Shrub  Hill.  He  was  a  man  of 
great  and  widespread  reputation  for  his  wit  and  scholarship. 
He  took  a  strong  fancy  for  me,  and  favored  me  with  a  very  in 
timate  acquaintance.  I  was  almost  every  day  at  his  house  in 
close  association  with  his  two  sons,  Edward  and  Horatio.  He 
was  the  associate  judge  of  the  Baltimore  County  Court,  and, 
when  I  first  knew  him,  was  beginning  to  show  some  irregulari 
ty  in  his  habits — a  misfortune  that  grew  upon  him  towards 
the  end  of  his  life.  But  he  was  a  ripe  classical  scholar,  a  man 
of  fine  taste  and  extensive  reading,  and  of  a  most  brilliant  wit. 
The  generation  of  that  day  were  accustomed  to  repeat  Zeb 
Hollingsworth's  brilliant  sayings  in  all  companies,  and  I  dare 
say,  as  is  usual,  to  set  down  to  him  a  great  many  clever  things 
that  he  never  uttered.  I  remember  one,  particularly,  which  I 
know  was  genuine.  Hollingsworth  very  naturally  prided  him 
self  on  his  intellect,  but  he  was  cynical,  and  held  inferior  men, 
and  particularly  ostentatious  men,  in  great  scorn.  There  was 
a  Mr.  Hollins,  in  Baltimore,  a  merchant  of  considerable 
wealth,  a  very  respectable  gentleman,  but  inclined  to  be  state 
ly,  showy  and  grave.  He  was  at  the  head  of  the  firm  of  Hol 
lins  &  McBlair,  and  regarded  himself  as  holding  a  position 
very  high  in  our  mercantile  community.  With  a  fine  exterior, 
a  bald  head,  a  grave,  wise-looking  countenance,  he  was  not  very 
intellectual.  Hollingsworth,  I  suppose,  did  not  like  him,  and 
one  day,  at  a  dinner-party,  he  was  asked  if  Mr.  H.  was  not 
an  intimate  friend  of  his.  The  judge  was  somewhat  start 
led  at  the  question,  and  denied  the  intimacy,  spoke  rather 
sharply  against  his  townsman,  and  said  he  and  Mr.  H.  had  no 
Doints  of  sympathy,  and  then  quoted  Pope — (I  dare  say  his 


A   JUDICIAL    FRIEKD.  59 

diatribe  was  secretly  inspired  by  his  first   perception  of  the 
wit  of  the  quotation) 

"  Worth  makes  the  man,  and  want  of  it,  the  fellow — 
All  the  rest  is  leather  and  prunella !" 

This  was  the  gentleman  with  whom  my  boyhood  was  now 
so  intimately  conversant.  He  threw  me  into  a  state  of  con 
fused  modesty  and  embarrassment  one  day  that  I  called  to 
sit  with  him  at  his  house — Upton,  that  was  the  name  of  his 
seat — when,  in  the  presence  of  a  company  of  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen  who  happened  to  be  there,  he  said  to  me  :  "  Young 
man,  what  was  the  purpose  of  those  oratorical  flourishes  of 
yours  this  morning,  when  you  were  walking  in  your  garden, 
with  a  paper  in  your  hand,  and  were  gesticulating  in  such  a 
dramatic  way  for  a  good  hour  before  breakfast  ?  I  -suppose  you 
are  preparing  to  astonish  the  debating  society  with  one  of 
those  magnificent  impromptu  speeches,  which  will  annihilate 
every  man  in  the  opposition."  He  then  described  my  walk 
ing  up  and  down  the  garden-walk,  imitating  me  by  walking 
across  the  room  —  my  violent  toss  of  the  arms,  and  my 
frequent  recurrence  to  the  paper  in  my  hand  which  I  was 
evidently  committing  to  memory.  He  did  this  so  comically 
as  to  set  every  one  laughing,  and  to  cover  me  with  confusion 
at  being  discovered  in  what  I  thought  was  a  most  private 
study.  He  had  guessed  the  truth.  I  had  been  practising  a 
speech,  and  manifesting  all  the  vehemence  he  imputed  to  me, 
in  what  I  thought  a  perfectly  concealed  part  of  the  garden. 
But  it  happened  that  unconsciously  I  was  in  full  view7  of  the 
judge,  who  was  on  the  porch  at  Upton,  and  who,  seeing  me 
in  this  state  of  excitement,  had  called  out  his  sons  to  look  at 
me.  Horatio  was  a  member  of  the  debating  society,  and 
knew  the  subject  I  was  upon,  and  made  my  exposure  a  topic 
for  many  a  jest  afterwards.  A  less  shy  nature  than  mine 
would  have  made  light  of  the  joke,  but  I  sank  under  it  almost 
as  much  as  if  I  had  been  detected  in  a  piece  of  roguery. 

I  owe  a  great  deal  to  Judge  Hollingsworth  in  the  way  of 


60  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.   KENNEDY. 

stimulus  to  study  and  good  advice.  He  discoursed  so  elo 
quently,  and  so  much  to  my  taste,  on  books,  often  reciting 
pages  of  the  best  passages,  that  I  found  a  new  zeal  in  study 
ing  them  afterwards.  My  father  had  a  share  in  the  Baltimore 
Library,  which  I  used  freely.  There  was  a  book  in  it  which 
was  warmly  commended  to  me  by  the  judge  for  the  beauty 
of  its  composition,  which  I  have  never  met  anywhere  else.  It 
is  "Brown's  Estimate  of  the  Manners  of  England,"  written 
somewhere  about  1756.  The  author  acquired  an  enviable 
fame  in  his  day,  and  was  commonly  known  in  the  literary 
circles  as  "  Estimate  Brown."  This  boo'k  was  written  after  a 
series  of  reverses  to  the  British  arms  in  the  war  of  that 
period,  and  its  purpose  was  to  arouse  the  nation  to  a  new 
reckoning  of  its  strength  and  character.  It  is  written  with 
great  eloquence.  The  judge  was  unbounded  in  the  praise  of 
it,  and  infused  into  me  a  good  share  of  his  admiration.  He 
also  drew  me  to  the  study  of  Dryden's  prose  works  by  some 
printed  criticism  upon  his  style,  which  he  particularly  com 
mended  to  my  notice.  I  read,  under  this  influence,  with 
all  the  judge's  own  relish,  the  introduction  to  the  translation 
of  the  ^Eneid.  I  can  remember  now  the  fervor  with  which 
the  old  gentleman  quoted  a*  passage  from  that  introduction, 
as  he  strode  across  his  parlor,  with  his  long,  gaunt  figure 
tossed,  or  rather  scattered,  into  such  queer  angles  as  he 
walked,  giving  him  a  Don  Quixotic  air.  It  was  Dryden's 
comment  on  a  line  in  the  ^Eneid,  something  in  this  way,  for 
I  have  not  read  the  book  for  forty  years,  and  therefore 
depend  on  an  indistinct  memory — 

"  Aude,  liospes  contemnere  opes 
Et  te  quoque  dignam  finge  deo." 

"  I  am  lost,"  says  Dryden,  "  in  admiration  of  the  language 
when  I  read  these  lines,  and  ashamed  of  my  own  when  I 
attempt  to  translate  it." 

The  judge  seemed  to  be  equally  moved  by  the  admiration 


LITERARY    PASTIMES.  GL 

and  the  shame,  as  he  poured  this  quotation  forth  in  his  own 
deep  and  emphatic  tone  of  elocution. 

I  sometimes  found  him  reading  Terence  and  Plautus,  and 
he  often  acted  the  scene  he  was  reading  by  taking  the  floor 
and  reciting  the  verses  in  the  Latin  text  as  theatrically  as  he 
would  have  recited  Shakspeare  or  Sheridan. 

What  an  impression  does  such  a  man  make  on  a  young 
student,  such  as  I  was!  How  I  envied  his  power  of  appre 
ciation  and  his  facility  of  interpreting  the  feelings  of  these 
authors  !  He  has  given  me  many  a  sleepless  hour  of  study 
in  the  vain  effort  to  arrive  at  his  accomplishment.  I  attribute 
to  such  an  influence  many  of  my  own  secret  labors,  which  have, 
not  once  or  twice  only,  but  often,  kept  me  at  my  books  till 
the  day  dawned  upon  me ;  more  often  till  two  or  three  in  the 
morning. 

Our  house  at  Shrub  Hill  was  small,  and  my  brother  Andrew 
and  myself  occupied  the  garret-room,  of  which  I  have  spoken 
in  a  previous  chapter.  We  had  a  stove  there,  and  I  was 
accustomed  to  work  at  my  desk  long  after  Dag,  as  I  have  not 
yet  ceased  to  call  my  brother  (for  that  was  his  early  and  now 
his  .latest  nickname),  was  silent  in  slumber.  That  desk  of 
.mine  is  a  remembrance.  I  made  it  myself — rough  carpentry 
with  rough  materials.  It  was  a  portable  box,  with  lock  and 
key,  and  for  finish,  by  way  of  ornament,  was  covered  with 
newspapers  pasted  over  its  different  faces.  The  top  was 
shelving,  so  that  I  could  write  upon  it ;  and  what  a  treasure 
it  held  under  the  lock  !  Essays,  treatises,  notes,  journals, 
farces,  poems,  travels,  pencil  sketches,  paintings — what  author 
ever  was  prouder  of  his  collection  !  I  used  to  contemplate 
them  with  a  quiet  admiration  that  I  generally  expressed  in  a 
low  whistle  of  a  familiar  tune  which  always  denoted  singular 
satisfaction  and  contentment  of  mind.  No  wonder  I  sat  up 
so  late  and  so  often  before  this  magical  desk ;  which,  like  a 
huge  musical-box,  constantly  to  my  ear  poured  out  such  a 
succession  of  melodies,  all  the  richer  to  one,  that  no  other 
mortal  upon  earth  could  hear  them. 


02  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

I  had,  besides,  in  the  room,  an  old-fashioned  mahogany 
chest  of  drawers,  with  a  secretary  top,  which  might  be  said  to 
be  made  in  the  manner  of  a  hipped  roof.  When  this  top  was 
opened  down  upon  two  holders,  which  could  be  drawn  out 
from  the  sides,  it  made  a  writing-table,  above  which  there  was  a 
range  of  pigeon-holes,  in  the  centre  space  of  which  range  was  a 
little  closet  with  lock  and  key,  and  within  that,  small  drawers, 
where  pride  had  a  daily  banquet.  They  were  all  mine,  and 
all  were  supplied  with  appropriate  lucubrations — my  most 
mature  productions.  The  newspaper  desk  was  a  place  of 
probation — a  nest  for  embryos  ;  but  the  pigeon-holes !  they 
were  the  recipient  of  what  had  passed  the  ordeal — for  the 
perfect  works  which  I  designed  for  posterity.  There 
were  the  letters  of  my  numerous  correspondents,  my  finished 
orations,  my  sermons,  for  I  had  even  written  sermons,  my 
grave  tracts  on  military  tactics,  engineering,  a  treatise  on 
botany,  and  another  on  chemistry,  one  of  which,  on  chemistry, 
I  think,  was  stolen  from  Watson.  My  first  productions  were 
also  garnered  here,  very  crude  and  jejune,  I  knew,  and  written 
with  infinite  labor,  but  self-adjudged  worthy  of  careful  pres 
ervation  exactly  as  they  were,  because  I  felt  confident  posterity 
would  be  curious  to  see  these  first  dawnings  of  genius,  and 
would  anxiously  inquire  for  the  memorials  of  a  writer  who, 
at  that  date,  intended  to  do  great  things  in  the  literary  way, 
which  things,  that  same  posterity,  when  it  became  anxious  on 
this  subject,  would  have  before  it  already  done,  and  in  con 
summate  accomplishment.  Oh  !  the  dreams  of  boyhood  ! 

Life  develops  its  hopes  and  its  judgments  in  its  own  way. 
What  a  change  has  come !  I  guarded  these  treasures  for 
years  ;  visited  and  re-visited  them  as  a  miser  his  gold  ;  read, 
over  and  over  again,  every  thing ;  and,  at  last,  on  one  winter 
night,  holding  myself  to  be  a  man,  and  taking  a  manly  scorn 
of  all  childish  things,  I  deliberately  took  out  of  the  pigeon 
holes  and  little  closet  and  small  drawers  all  this  precious 
deposit,  turned  each  paper  carefully  over,  read  a  little  at  top 
and  a  little  at  bottom,  and  then,  with  a  new  judgment  and  a 


LAW    STUDIES.  03 

most  unsparing  critical  condemnation,  deliberately  commuted 
all  and  sundry,  one  by  one,  to  the  flames.  There  perished 
poetry,  art,  science,  literature,  humanities,  geologies  and  theol 
ogies,  all  in  one  great  heroic  auto  da  ft!  It  was  very  rash, 
and  I  have  been  sorry  for  it  a  hundred  times  since ;  not  for 
any  merit  in  the  aforesaid  accumulation,  but  because  they 
were  the  footprints  of  my  life  up  to  that  time,  for  I  had 
scarcely  any  other  life  than  in  these  cobwebs. 

IV. 

Being  now  emancipated  from  the  schools,  and  very  flimsily 
armed  for  the  encounter  of  life,  my  next  thoughts  ran  upon 
the  question,  "  Well,  what  now  ?"  I  can  scarcely  call  it 
choice  which  shaped  my  career  from  this  point.  It  was  fixed 
fate.  I  came  along  to  the  verge  of  the  bar  as  a  cork  upon  a 
stream  bobs  along  towards  the  eddy  which  catches  it  on  its 
way,  and  bears  it  in  upon  its  own  perpetual  circle.  I  looked 
to  the  law,  I  suppose,  because  my  classics  and  my  debating 
society  floated  me  to  the  eddy  upon  which  I  was  destined  to 
swim. 

There  were,  however,  two  forces  now  acting  upon  me,  not 
necessarily  altogether  opposite,  and  yet  not  altogether  in  har 
mony.  I  finally  made  a  compromise  with  both  in  the  difficul 
ty  of  surrendering  only  to  one.  We  had  the  war,  now  just 
beginning  to  become  a  reality.  It  was  declared  in  June,  1812. 
I  graduated  in  September  of  the  same  year.  So  here  was 
Law  and  the  Camp  both  putting  forth  their  attractions  for  a  boy 
whose  imagination  was  most  susceptible  to  each  —  la  us 
marts  quam  menurio.  My  father  had  not  encouraged  my 
army  scheme,  and  so  I  considered  that  hopeless,  and  I  forth 
with  placed  myself  under  the  guidance  of  my  uncle,  Edmund 
Pendleton,  who  had  lately  married  Miss  Parnell,  in  Baltimore, 
and  was  now  in  the  practice  of  the  law.  He  had  an  office  at 
the  corner  of  St.  Paul's  and  Fayette  'street,  then  called  Chat 
ham,  and  in  a  house  that  is  now  (1855)  and  for  two  or  three 


64  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

years  past  has  been  displaced  by  a  part  of  Barnum's  hotel. 
My  uncle's  library  consisted,  in  great  part,  of  the  books  that 
once  belonged  to  the  celebrated  Judge  Samuel  Chase  of  rev 
olutionary  memory,  and  I  found  some  additional  stimulant  to 
the  ambition  of  my  profession  in  getting  my  first  lessons  in  it 
out  of  volumes  which  bore  the  autograph  of  the  distinguished 
judge.  Many  of  these  books  were,  in  after  years,  given  to 
me  by  my  uncle,  by  me  at  a  later  period  given  to  my  nephew 
Andrew.  Among  these  I  read  Rutherforth,  Blackstone  and 
Justinian,  and  worked  with  a  vigor  of  application  and  perse 
verance  which,  if  it  had  been  seconded  by  any  thing  like  a  pro 
portionate  capacity  to  understand,  would  have  made  me  the 
wonder  of  the  street.  This  law — what  an  intricate,  inscruta 
ble,  dreary  mystification  it  is  to  the  young  student  in  his  first 
endeavors  to  get  into  and  out  of  the  fog — the  dense  fog — that 
fills  its  whole  atmosphere !  While  I  worked  at  this  like  a 
novice  who  conscientiously  acts  up  to  the  maxim  that  we 
should  do  our,  duty,  whether  pleasant  or  not,  I  had  another 
calling  where  all  was  true  sunlight  and  captivating  glitter.  I 
straightway — I  mean  in  a  few  months  after  my  coming  upon 
what  I  regarded  as  the  world,  entered  the  military  service  as  a 
volunteer  private  of  Captain  Warfield's  company,  the  United 
Volunteers  of  the  Fifth  Regiment  Maryland  Militia,  under  the 
command  of  Colonel  Joseph  Sterrett,  and  belonging  to  the 
Third  Brigade.  I  think  I  did  this  in  the  winter  of  1812-13, 
when  the  whole  country  was  measuring  its  paces  to  a  univer 
sal  rub-a-dub,  and  marking  time  to  the  order  of  the  drill-ser 
geant.  It  was  a  time  of  great  stir,  excitement,  anxiety,  effort 
and  hope.  We  have  had  nothing  like  it  since.  It  is  the  glory 
of  my  life,  its  vivid  point,  that  I  lived  in  the  day  that  was 
tilled  with  the  exultation  of  the  first  naval  victories  of  our  gov 
ernment.  When  the  Constitution  brought  in  the  Guerriere — 
what  a  day  was  that ! 

The  enemy  took  possession  of  Chesapeake  Bay  and  occupied 
it  during  both  summers  of  1813  and  1814.  There  was  a 
squadron  under  the  command  of  Admiral  Sir  John  Borlasse 


MILITARY    LIFE. 


G5 


Warren,  assisted  by  Admiral  Sir  George  Cockburn  and  Sir 
Peter  Parker,  who  was  an  army  officer.  These  names  became 
very  familiar  to  us  in  Baltimore  during  this  period.  The  squad 
ron  consisted  of  several  men-of-war,  and  one  or  other  was 
always  in  sight  at  the  mouth  of  the  Patapsco  — sometimes  the 
whole — with  any  quantity  of  small  craft  captured  in  the  bay. 
To  me  it  was  a  delightful  stimulus  to  live  in  the  midst  of  so 
many  excitements.  There  was,  first,  the  constantly  coining 
news  of  the  war  and  its  disasters,  especially  in  1813,  for 
things  were  shockingly  managed  in  that  year.  Then  the  naval 
victories  which  were  coming  in  thick — as  often  as  an  American 
ship  met  a  British — and  which  brought  such  a  phrensy  of  ex 
ultation ;  then  an  alarm  of  the  enemy  landing  somewhere 
near  us,  and  this  followed  up  by  such  a  stir  on  our  side  !  No 
one  can  adequately  imagine  the  vividness  and  the  pleasure  of 
these  excitements  who  has  not  experienced  them.  Baltimore, 
as  in  fact  the  whole  country,  became  a  camp.  We  had  some 
five  thousand  volunteers  and  militia  always  on  foot,  and  as  the 
regular  resources  of  the  Federal  Government  were  sadly  defi 
cient,  the  militia  was  called  into  service,  or  at  least  the  volun 
teers  offered  themselves  and  were  received  to  do  garrison  and 
other  duties  in  the  forts  around  us.  This  arrangement  brought 
certain  portions  of  the  Fifth  Regiment  into  periodical  service 
for  a  week  at  a  time  at  Fort  McHenry. 

What  a  glorification  this  afforded  to  me  !  Here  I  was,  just 
out  of  college,  in  a  very  dashy  uniform  of  blue  and  red,  with 
a  jacket  and  leather  helmet,  crested  with  a  huge  black  feather, 
and  surmounted  by  a  particularly  limber  and,  as  I  thought, 
graceful  red  one,  with  my  white  cross-belts,  pure  as  pipe-clay 
could  make  them,  my  cartridge-box  and  bayonet,  and  a  Har 
per's  Ferry  musket  of  fourteen  pounds,  white  drill  pantaloons 
(blue  in  winter),  with  black  gaiters.  There  I  was,  eighteen 
years  of  age,  knapsacked,  with  blanket,  canteen  and  haversack 
(generally  a  cold  fowl,  biscuit,  fried  tongue  and  bottle  of  wine 
in  it),  and  detailed  for  a  week's  duty  at  the  fort.  Talk  about 
luxuries!  I  have  had  a  good  share  of  what  goes  by  that 


DO  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

name  in  my  lifetime,  but  I  have  never  had  since  any  thing  in 
that  way  that  might  be  compared  with  the  nights  in  the  guard 
room,  and  the  routine  of  the  sentinel's  duty  in  weather  wet  or 
dry,  and  in  moonlit  and  moonless  midnights,  to  which  I  have 
been  detailed  at  Fort  McHenry.  To  sleep  between  guard- 
hours  on  a  bench,  to  eat  and  drink  in  the  intervals,  and  to 
tell  stories  and  laugh  as  healthy  and  light-hearted  boys  only 
can  laugh  in  such  scenes,  were  to  me  enjoyments  that  never 
waned  in  interest  and  never  lost  their  zest  in  repetition.  Our 
military  service  was  thus  but  a  pastime,  recurring  sometimes 
every  day  for  weeks,  and  then  intermitted  for  a  week  at  a  time, 
when  the  occasion  was  not  pressing.  I  had  abundance  of 
time  on  my  hands,  therefore,  for  study,  and  being  conscientious 
on  that  point,  I  worked  very  diligently.  I  had  my  law  course 
prescribed,  and  with  it  I  associated  a  considerable  amount 
of  miscellaneous  reading  ;  too  miscellaneous,  I  must  say  now, 
when  I  reflect  on  the  dissipation  of  mind  which  it  produced. 
In  the  diary  of  my  studies,  which  I  regret  having  destroyed 
some  years  ago,  I  can  remember  what  a  variety  of  minutes  I 
had  to  make  of  a  rambling  course  of  reading  which  embraced 
almost  every  recognized  department  of  literature.  I  know 
that  I  toiled  wearily  through  many  ungenial  subjects,  and  ran 
to  others  of  more  attraction  with  an  avidity  I  found  it  hard  to 
satisfy.  And,  like  a  great  foundation,  labor-ponderous,  unsat 
isfactory  and  terrible,  there  was  always  before  me,  predomi 
nant  and  exacting  above  the  rest,  the  Law — the  crabbed,  un- 
amiable  and  indigestible  Law. 

I  had  an  excellent  memory,  which  I  rather  think  was  an 
impediment  to  me.  I  once  wrote  off  on  a  bravado  in  which 
my  veracity  was  called  in  question,  a  page  from  the  eighth 
edition  of  "  Conise's  Digest,"  the  page  being  chosen  for  me,  and 
the  volume  taken  away  after  I  had  been  permitted  to  read  it 
— I  think — five  minutes, — some  very  short  study.  I  could  do 
this  more  readily  with  subjects  to  which  I  had  a  fancy, — and 
particularly  in  poetical  works.  My  admiration  of  good  speak 
ing  enabled  me  to  report  speeches  very  well  from  memory. 


MILITARY    LIFE. 


07 


I  have  written  out  a  considerable  part  of  a  sermon  heard  but 
once,  and,  on  one  occasion,  I  made  an  almost  verbal  trans- 
script  of  a  speech  of  Mr.  Pinkney's,  in  a  case  in  court  that  at 
tracted  my  attention  by  its  felicity  of  expression,  and  which 
was  recognized  for  the  unusual  accuracy  of  the  report,  by  all 
who  had  an  opportunity  to  compare  it  with  their  own  recollec 
tions. 

In  the  summer  of  1813  the  mouth  of  the  Patapsco  was 
kept  under  an  almost  constant  blockade  by  Admiral  Warren's 
squadron.     The  enemy  occasionally  landed  on  the   Chesa 
peake  Bay,  making  short  incursions  into  the  country.     Our 
troops  were  therefore  kept  in  active  service.     We  had  a  pa 
rade  every  morning  at  six — two  or  three  hours1  drill ; — were  dis 
missed  during  the  middle  of  the  day  and  allowed  to  pursue  our 
ordinary  avocations,  and  re-assembled  for  a  second  drill  to 
wards  evening.     In  addition  to  this  we  were  regularly,  in  turn, 
detailed  for  garrison  duty.     We  were,  in  fact,  growing  to  be 
excellent  soldiers.     In  my  intervals  of  release  from  duty,  I 
sometimes  wrote  what  I  thought  spirited  appeals  to  the  coun 
try  to  stimulate  our  people.      These  were  published  in  the 
newspaper.     I  was  very  shy  of  my  authorship,  and  anxious  to 
know  how  my  exhortations. took  with  the  public.     I,  of  course, 
believed  every-body  read  them  with  delight  and  wondered  who 
could  write  them.     As  our  regiment  was  one  day  returning 
from  drill  on  Londenslager's  Hill,  where  our  parade-ground 
was,  I  ventured  to  say  to  a  comrade  marching  next  to  me, 
that  there  was  an  address  to  "  The  Volunteers  of  Baltimore" 
in  the  paper  of  that  morning.     Yes,  he  had  seen  it.     "  Who 
do   you  suppose   writes   these   things."        He    didn't   know. 
From  his  manner,  it  was  evident  it  did  not  much  interest  him 
to  know.      I  was  set  all  aback.      It  hadn't  created  the  enthu 
siasm  I  expected.     No  one  ever  said  what  I  imagined  I  would 
hear  many  saying :    "  Who  can  be  writing  those  stirring  pa 
pers?"  I  have  learned  since  that- fine  writing  falls  on  the  busi 
ness  world  like  water  on  a  duck's  back.     At  this  period  I  was 
eighteen  years  old.     Eighteen  has  always  a  susceptible  heart. 


68  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

The  war  was  the  nurse  of  romance  and  kindled  the  conc^v 
that  drives  youth  into  chivalric  ideas  of  love.  The  young  girls 
of  Baltimore  were  very  beautiful,  and  I  was  a  passionate  ad 
mirer  with  some  violent  preferences.  Nothing  is  more  natu 
ral  than  this  association  of  youth,  military  ardor  and  suscepti 
bility  to  the  charms  of  female  society.  My  own  life  at  this  pe 
riod  found  a  delightful  engrossment  in  the  varying  influences 
produced  by  the  public  exigencies  and  these  attractions  of  so 
ciety.  For  the  first  time  I  began  to  conceit  I  had  some  poet 
ical  faculty,  and  I  accordingly  wrote  verses, — poor  enough  they 
were,  but  to  my  imagination  or  vanity  they  presented  seeds  of 
promise — seeds  that  never  afterwards  came  to  fruit. 

Meantime  the  war  rolled  on.  The  papers  were  full  of  stir 
ring  events.  We  suffered  no  ennui.  Every  day  had  its  excite 
ments.  There  was  a  wonderful  amount  of  personal  activity  de 
veloped  in  all  classes.  The  fears  and  hopes  of  war  are  full  of 
delights. 

We  had,  in  the  winter  of  1813-14,  a  little  affair  on  the  East 
ern  Shore  which  went  by  the  name  of  "  The  Battle  of  the  Ice 
Mound."  A  small  schooner  of  ours  taken  by  the  British  and 
'manned  by  a  few  men  under  the  command  of  a  lieutenant  and 
a  midshipman,  got  frozen  up  in  the  ice  near  Kent  Island. 
Within  two  hundred  yards  of  her  position  was  a  mound  of  ice, 
heaped  up  by  the  flow  of  the  tide.  A  number  of  the  country 
militia  got  out  to  this  mound,  and  using  it  as  a  point  of  attack, 
protected  from  the  enemy's  fire,  made  a  brisk  assault  from  it 
upon  the  schooner,  which  was  soon  obliged  to  strike  her  colors. 
The  lieutenant  and  midshipman,  with  their  party,  were  made 
prisoners,  and  were  sent  to  Baltimore,  where  the  two  officers 
spent  the  winter, — quite  distinguished  objects  in  society, — and, 
I  doubt  not,  much  gratified  at  the  exchange  of  their  wintry 
guard  on  the  bay  for  the  comforts  of  a  pleasant  captivity. 

In  the  Spring,  the  war  began  to  assume  a  new  aspect. 
The  year  1813  was  one  of  defeats  on  land.  This  year,  1814, 
our  armies  had  more  success.  Our  soldiers  were  growing 
more  confident.  A  little  skirmish  occurred  on  the  Eastern 


MILITARY    LIFE. 


69 


Shore  nearly  opposite  to  the  mouth  of  the  Patapsco.  Sir  Pe 
ter  Parker  had  been  ravaging  that  neighborhood  in  small  fo 
rays,  and  was  at  last  encountered  by  some  of  our  militia  under 
Colonel  Philip  Reid,  and  was  killled.  There  was  also  a  little 
affair  on  West  River,  where  our  militia  cavalry  defeated  a  par 
ty  of  British.  The  war  was  coming  near  to  our  own  doors,  and 
events  every  day  grew  more  exciting.  Our  military  ardor  was 
on  the  rise.  I  was  in  a  state  of  constant  exhilaration.  Our 
drills  and  occasional  detached  service  became  more  frequent 
and  severe.  In  fact,  Baltimore  assumed  more  and  more  the 
character  of  an  extensive  garrison.  Still,  in  the  intervals  of 
duty  I  pursued  my  studies,  and  I  am  conscious  of  a  little  ten 
dency  at  that  time,  to  the  swagger  and  insouciance  which  boys 
are  apt  to  consider  as  one  of  the  elegancies  of  military  charac 
ter.  I  visited  a  great  deal  among  the  younger  belles  of  the 
city,  and  rather  piqued  myself  upon  the  importance  of  belong 
ing  to  the  army  which  was  entrusted  with  the  defense  of  the 
state.  Very  natural,  this  egotism,  at  such  a  time,  when  every 
body  looked  upon  our  regiment  as  an  elite  corps ! 

We  began  to  long  now  for  more  active  service.  Several 
victories  on  the  Canada  border  had  raised  the  national  ardor. 
Some  of  my  companions  had  taken  commissions  and  gone  off 
to  "the  lines"  in  that  quarter.  Strother,  Hunter  and  Mackay 
had  gone  from  Virginia  the  year  before — friends  of  mine. 
Hunter, — David  Hunter, — a  half  brother  of  my  uncle  Stephen 
Danclridge,  was  killed  at  Williamsburg  in  Canada.  Strother 
and  Mackay  served  through  the  war.  Strother  is  yet  (1860) 
alive,  living  at  Berkeley  Springs,  the  father  of  the  artist,  David 
Strother.  He  married  Elizabeth  Hunter,  my  first  cousin.  I 
don't  know  what  became  of  Mackay. 

This  departure  of  associates  of  my  own  age  for  the  field  of 
war  in  the  regular  service,  fired  me  with  a  fresh  zeal  for  the 
same  enterprise,  but  my  father's  advice  was  against  it,  and  so 
I  remained  with  the  Fifth  Regiment  on  duty  at  home,  which, 
very  much  to  my  content,  was  now  beginning  to  give  promise 
of  more  busy  work. 


70  LIFE    OF    JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 

In  the  month  of  June  we  had  rumors  from  England  of  a 
large  expedition  being  fitted  out  for  an  attack  on  the  States. 
The  war  was  to  be  transferred  from  Canada  to  the  Atlantic 
coast.  This  army  of  six  or  eight  thousand  men  was  said  to 
be  composed  of  the  regiments  which  had  just  returned  from 
Spain,  where  they  had  distinguished  themselves  under  the 
Duke  of  Wellington.  They  were  to  be  commanded  by  Lord 
Hill. 

We  were  left  in  great  uncertainty  as  to  the  point  at  which 
they  were  first  to  strike.  It  was  generally  believed,  however, 
that  they  were  to  come  either  to  the  Chesapeake  or  the  Dela 
ware,  to  attack  Philadelphia,  Baltimore  or  Washington,  or  per 
haps  all  three. 

What  a  splendid  commotion  this  intelligence  made  !  We 
were  all  entirely  convinced  that,  at  whatsoever  of  these  points 
the  attack  might  be  made,  our  brigade  would  certainly  be  pres 
ent.  We  volunteered  our  services  to  inarch  to  any  point 
where  we  might  be  required.  All  kinds  of  preparation  were 
set  on  foot,  forts  strengthened,  discipline  increased  and  supplies 
accumulated.  Troops  in  Virginia  and  Pennsylvania  were  or 
dered  to  be  in  readiness  to  march  at  the  first  summons.  Gen 
eral  officers  were  appointed  by  the  government  to  command 
these  districts.  There  was  every  sign  of  imminent  war. 

Commodore  Dale  had  a  few  ships  at  Philadelphia  which 
were  kept  ready  to  defend  the  Delaware  Bay.  There  were 
also  small  vessels  for  the  service  of  the  Chesapeake.  Commo 
dore  Barney  was  entrusted  with  a  flotilla  of  these,  which  was 
kept  afloat  in  the  bay  to  watch  and  report  the  progress  of  the 
enemy. 

There  was  a  joke  of  Dale's  current  at  that  day.  Some  one 
said  to  him,  "  Well,  commodore,  there  is  news  that  Hill  will 
soon  be  in  the  Delaware."  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him," 
said  the  commodore,  "  and  the  moment  I  hear  that  he  is  coming 
up,  we  shall  have  a  brisk  time — up  Hill  and  down  Dale." 

At  length  the  enemy  showed  himself  in  force  in  the  Chesa- 
speake.     Barney's   flotilla   was  in   the   Patuxent,  and  in   the 


OX    THE    MARCH.  71 

month  of  August  the  British  fleet,  under  Admiral  Warren,  ap 
peared  at  the  mouth  of  that  river.  Their  smaller  vessels  pursued 
Barney  up  the  river,  and  compelled  him  to  burn  his  flotilla. 
Immediately  afterwards  we  had  information  that  a  land  force 
had  disembarked  on  the  shores  of  the  Patuxent,  and  that  the 
fleet  had  sailed  up  the  Potomac.  It  was  evident  that  an 
attack  upon  Washington  was  the  object  of  these  movements. 

This,  of  course,  increased  the  stir  of  busy  life.  As  we  ex 
pected,  our  regiment,  with  a  brigade  of  drafted  militia  under 
General  Stansbury,  were  ordered  to  inarch  towards  the  capi 
tal.  This  order  came  on  the  nineteenth  of  August.  Stansbury 
was  instantly  in  motion.  We  marched  on  Sunday,  the  twenty- 
first — our  regiment,  the  Fifth,  accompanied  by  a  battalion  of 
riflemen,  commanded  by  William  Pinkney,  then  recently  re 
turned  from  England,  where  he  had  been  our  minister  for  sev 
eral  years,  and  now,  at  the  date  of  this  campaign,  Attorney- 
General  of  the  U.  S.  We  had  also  with  us  a  company  of 
artillery,  commanded  by -Richard  Magruder,  another  member 
of  the  bar,  and  a  small  corps  of  cavalry  from  the  Baltimore 
Light  Dragoons — Harry  Thompson's  company — the  detach 
ment  being  under  the  command  of  Lieutenant  Jacob  Hollings- 
worth. 

A  portion  of  Sterrett  Riclgeley's  Hussars  were  also  in  the 
detachment.  These  were  all  volunteers  of  the  city.  My  father 
was  a  member  of  Hollingsworth's  command,  and,  with  John 
Brown,  an  old  schoolmate  of  mine,  and  three  or  four  other  pri 
vates  of  the  corps,  served  as  videttes  to  our  brigade. 

It  was  a  day  of  glorious  anticipation,  that  Sunday  morning  ; 
when,  with  all  the  glitter  of  a  dress  parade,  we  set  forth  on 
our  march.  As  we  moved  through  the  streets,  the  pavements 
were  crowded  with  anxious  spectators  ;  the  windows  were  filled 
with  women  ;  friends  were  rushing  to  the  ranks  to  bid  us  good 
bye — many  exhorting  us  to  be  of  good  cheer  and  do  our 
duty ;  handkerchiefs  were  waving  from  the  fair  hands  at  the 
windows — some  few  of  the  softer  sex  weeping  as  they  waived 
adieux  to  husbands  and  brothers ;  the  populace  were  cheering 


'<:s  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

and  huzzaing  at  every  corner,  as  we  hurried  along  in  brisk  step 
to  familiar  music,  with  banners  fluttering  in  the  wind  and 
bayonets  flashing  in  the  sun.  What  a  scene  it  was,  and  what 
a  proud  actor  I  was  in  it !  I  was  in  the  ecstasy  of  a  vision  of 
glory,  stuffed  with  any  quantity  of  romance.  This  was  a  real 
army  marching  to  real  war.  The  enemy,  we  knew,  was  in  full 
career,  and  we  had  the  certainty  of  meeting  him  in  a  few  days. 
Unlike  our  customary  parades,  our  march  now  had  all  the 
equipments  of  a  campaign.  Our  wagon-train  was  on  the  road  ; 
our  cartridge-boxes  were  filled ;  we  had  our  crowd  of  camp 
servants  and  followers.  Officers  rode  backward  and  forward 
along  the  flanks  of  the  column,  with  a  peculiar  air  of  urgent 
business,  as  if  it  required  every  thing  to  be  done  in  a  gallop 
— the  invariable  form  in  which  military  conceit  shows  it 
self  in  the  first  movements  towards  a  campaign.  The  young 
officers  wish  to  attract  attention,  and  so  seem  to  be  always 
on  the  most  important  messages.  As  for  me, — not  yet  nine 
teen, — I  was  too  full  of  the  exultation  of  the  time  to  think 
of  myself; — all  my  fervor  was  spent  in  admiration  of  this  glit 
tering  army. 

"  It  were  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life 
One  glance  at  their  array." 

I  thought  of  these  verses,  and  they  spoke  of  my  delight. 
It  was  not  long  before  we  were  outside  of  the  town,  in  full  ca 
reer  on  the  Washington  road.  It  was  afternoon  in  warm  Au 
gust  weather  when  we  started.  By  sundown  we  reached  Elk 
Ridge  Landing,  and  there  turned  in  upon  the  flat  meadow 
ground  that  lies  under  the  hills  upon  the  further  bank  of  the 
Patapsco,  to  pitch  our  tents  for  the  night.  Camp-kettles  were 
served  out  to  us  and  our  rations  of  pork  and  hard  bread.  We 
formed  our  messes  that  evening,  and  mine,  consisting  of  six 
members,  who  were  consigned  to  one  tent,  was  made  up  of 
pleasant  companions.  This  was  all  new  to  us,  and  very  amus 
ing.  The  company  consisted  of  gentlemen  of  good  condition 
and  accustomed  to  luxurious  life,  and  the  idea  of  a  supper  of 


IN    CAMP.  73 

fat  pork  and  hard  biscuit  was  a  pleasant  absurdity  which  we 
treated  as  a  matter  of  laughter.  We  had  our  own  stores  in  the 
wagon  to  rely  upon  when  we  could  get  at  them,  and  a  short, 
active  negro  man  as  a  servant  for  the  mess,  whom  we  took  into 
service  that  evening  from  the  crowd  of  stragglers  who  follow 
ed  the  column  of  march.  The  first  care  after  getting  our  tent 
up  was  to  hold  a  consultation  about  our  domestic  affairs,  and 
it  was  then  resolved  that  two  of  us  should  in  turn  serve  as 
house-keeper,  successively  from  week  to  week.  The  choice  to 
day  fell  upon  Ned  Schroeder  and  myself.  We  were  to  attend 
at  the  giving  out  of  the  rations  and  then  to  cook  them.  The 
mess  was  not  likely  to  grow  fat  under  our  administration. 
Upon  repairing  to  the  quartermaster  for  our  supplies,  we  were 
given  a  piece  of  pork  of  five  or  six  pounds,,  a  new  camp-ket 
tle,  and  a  quantity  of  hard  biscuit.  Ned  and  I  had  a  consul 
tation  }  upon  the  process  of  the  cooking,  the  result  of  which 
was  that  we  determined  to  put  our  pork  in  a  kettle,  fill  this 
with  water  to  the  brim,  and  then  set  it  over  a  brisk  fire  for 
two  hours ;  so  we  set  about  it.  To  make  the  fire  we  resolved 
to  signalize  our  service  by  that  soldierly  act  which  is  looked 
upon  as  a  prescriptive  right — the  robbing  of  the  nearest  fence 
of  as  many  rails  as  suited  our  purpose — which  we  did  like 
veterans,  satisfying  our  conscience  with  the  reflection  that 
sometime  or  other,  perhaps,  Congress  would  pay  for  the  dam 
age.  We  got  up  a  magnificent  flame,  and  by  placing  our  ket 
tle  on  a  support  of  stones  it  the  midst  of  it,  we  made  sure  that 
the  cooking  would  soon  become  a  happy  success.  This  being 
done,  we  sauntered  off  to  look  at  the  evening  parade,  from 
which  our  culinary  labors  gave  us  an  exemption.  In  less 
than  an  hour  we  lounged  back  to  take  a  view  of  the  kettle. 
There  it  was,  buried  in  a  little  mound  of  hot  coals,  the  water 
all  boiled  out,  and  the  iron  red  hot.  In  the  bottom  of  this  lu 
rid  pot  we  discovered  a  black  mess  which  seemed  to  be  reduced 
to  a  stratum  of  something  resembling  a  compound  of  black 
soap  in  a  semi-liquid  state,  and  on  drawing  the  kettle  out  of 
the  fire,  and  cooling  it  as  quickly  as  we  could,  by  setting  it  in 


I*  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

water,  we  came  to  the  perception  that  our  supper,  or  at  least 
so  much  of  it  as  we  had  cooked,  was  a  compost  of  charred 
bones,  and  a  deposit  of  black  fat,  the  whole  plated  over  with 
the  scales  of  iron  which  the  heat  had  brought  off  in  flakes 
from  the  kettle.  Our  comrades  of  the  mess  gathered  around 
this  ruin  with  amused  interest,  and  we  were  voted  a  diploma 
for  our  admirable  experiment  in  the  art  of  dressing  pork.  We 
had  found  our  company's  wagon  by  the  time  this  experiment 
was  so  finely  concluded,  and,  with  the  help  of  Elizah,  or  Lige, 
— as  our  servant  was  called, — found  a  very  good  resource  for 
supper  without  the  aid  of  the  pork.  We  had  coffee  and  choc 
olate,  good  bread  and  ham  in  abundance.  The  night  was  chil 
ly,  and  I  had  come  away  without  a  blanket,  trusting  to  a  great 
coat  which  I  thought  would  be  sufficient  for  a  summer  cam 
paign.  Luckily,  my  father  came  along  by  our  quarters,  and 
perceiving  my  condition,  went  out  and  supplied  my  need  by  a 
contribution  from  a  friend  in  the  neighborhood.  At  the  regu 
lation  hour,  the  members  of  the  mess  who  were  not  detailed 
for  guard  duty — some  four  of  us — crept  into  our  tent  and  ar 
ranging  our  blankets  into  a  soft  bed,  laid  down  and  fell  into  a 
hearty  sleep,  which  was  only  broken  by  the  reveille  the  next 
morning.  This  was  my  first  night  of  a  regular  campaign.  The 
next  day  we  marched  from  the  Landing  to  Vansville,  about 
twenty  miles, — halting  an  hour  or  so  at  Waterloo,  then  Mc 
Coy's  tavern,  where  we  got  dinner — I  mean  my  comrades  of  the 
mess  and  myself,  having  no  need  and  not  very  willing  to  try 
another  experiment  in  cooking  for  ourselves.  The  day  was 
hot,  and  portions  of  the  road  in  deep  sand,  It  was  a  great  trial. 
We  were  in  winter  cloth  uniform,  with  a  most  absurd  helmet  of 
thick  jacked  leather  and  covered  with  plumes.  We  carried,  be 
sides,  a  knapsack,  in  which — in  my  own  case — I  had  packed 
a  great  coat,  my  newly-acquired  blanket,  two  or  three  shirts, 
stockings,  etc.,  etc.  Among  these  articles  I  had  also  put  a 
pair  of  pumps,  which  I  had  provided  with  the  idea,  that,  after 
we  had  beaten  the  British  army  and  saved  Washington,  Mr. 
Madison  would  very  likely  invite  us  to  a  ball,  at  the  White 


ON    THE   MARCH.  75 

House,  and  I  wanted  to  be  ready  for  it.  The  knapsacks  must 
have  weighed,  I  suppose,  at  least  ten  pounds.  Then  there  was 
a  Harper's  Ferry  musket  of  fourteen  pounds.  Take  our  burden 
altogether,  and  we -could  not  have  been  tramping  over  those 
sandy  roads,  under  the  broiling  sun  of  August,  with  less  than 
thirty  pounds  of  weight  upon  us.  But  we  bore  it  splendidly, 
toiling  and  sweating*™  a  dense  cloud  of  dust,  drinking  the 
muddy  water  of  the  little  brooks  which  our  passage  over  them 
disturbed,  and  taking  all  the  discomforts  of  this  rough  experi 
ence  with  a  cheerful  heart  and  a  stout  resolve.  We  joked  with 
our  afflictions,  laughed  at  each  other,  and  sang  in  the  worst  of 
times.  The  United  Volunteers  was  the  finest  company  in  the 
regiment,  about  one  hundred  strong  when  in  full  array,  but  now 
counting  eighty  effective  men.  These  were  the  elite  of  the  city 
— several  of  them  gentlemen  of  large  fortunes.  William  Gil- 
mor  was  one  of  them — a  merchant  of  high  standing;  Meredith, 
who  has  so  long  been  among  the  most  distinguished  at  the 
bar,  was  another.  It  was  what  is  called  the  crack  company  of 
the  city,  and  composed  of  a  class  of  men  who  are  not  general 
ly  supposed  to  be  the  best  to  endure  fatigue,  and  yet  there  was 
no  body  of  men  in  all  the  troops  of  Baltimore  who  were  more 
ready  for  all  service,  more  persistent  in  meeting  and  accom 
plishing  the  severest  duty.  To  me  personally  labor  and  fa 
tigue  were  nothing.  I  was  inured  to  both  by  self-discipline, 
and  I  had  come  to  a  philosophic  conviction  that  both  were  es 
sential  to  all  enjoyments  of  life,  and  beside  this  bit  of  philos 
ophy,  I  was  lured  by  the  romance  of  our  enterprise  into  an 
oblivion  of  its  hardships. 

The  second  day  brought  us  to  Vansville,  by  the  way,  a 
town  consisting  of  one  house,  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  where  stage- 
passengers  stopped  for  a  change  of  horses  on  the  road  to  Wash 
ington  ;  and  at  early  dawn  the  next  day — Tuesday  morning, 
the  twenty-second  of  August — we  resumed  the  road,  and  reach 
ed  Bladensburg  about  five  in  the  afternoon,  having  marched 
very  slowly,  with  many  halts  during  the  day,  waiting  for  orders 
•from  the  commander-in-chief.  Reports  were  coming  to  us 


70  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

every  moment  of  the  movements  of  the  enemy.  They  had  pass 
ed  Maryborough,  and  were  marching  on  Washington,  but  wheth 
er  they  were  on  the  direct  road  to  the  city,  or  were  coming 
by  Bladensburg,  was  uncertain.  Our  movements  depended 
somewhat  upon  them.  General  Winder,  who  commanded  the 
army  immediately  in  front  of  the  ertfiny,  and  was  retiring 
slowly  before  him,  was  advised  of  our^Rrch,  and  was  sending 
frequent  instructions  to  our  commander.  Of  course  we  in 
the  ranks  knew  nothing  about  these  high  matters.  All  that 
we  could  hear  were  the  flying  rumors  of  the  hour,  which  were 
stirring  enough.  One  of  Winder's  videttes  had  come  to  us. 
He  had  a  great  story  to  tell.  He  was  carrying  orders  to 
Stansbury,  who  was  ahead  of  us,  and  fell  in  with  a  party  of 
British  dragoons,  from  whom  he  fled  at  speed  for  his  life. 
The  country  in  Prince  George  is  full  of  gates ;  the  highroads 
often  lie  through  cultivated  fields,  without  side  fences  to  guard 
them,  and  every  field  is  entered  through  a  gate  which  is  al 
ways  old  and  ricketty,  and  swings  to  after  your  horse  with  a 
rapid  sweep  and  a  bang  that  threatens  to  take  off  his  tail. 
One  vidette,  a  Mr.  Floyd,  known  to  us  in  Baltimore,  told  us  he 
had  been  pursued  several  miles  by  four  of  these  dragoons.  He 
reported  that  the  British  army  had  a  corps  of  cavalry  with  them, 
and  that  being  splendidly  mounted,  as  we  saw  he  was,  and 
having  General  Winder's  servant  with  him  also  mounted  on  a 
fleet  horse,  to  open  and  hold  open  the  gates  for  him,  he  had  es 
caped  and  had  got  up  to  us.  This  was  all  true  as  he  told  it, 
except  that  he  was  mistaken,  as  we  found  out  the  next  day 
when  we  joined  Winder,  in  one  important  particular,  and 
that  was,  that  his  pursuers  were  not  British  dragoons,  but  four 
members  of  the  Georgetown  cavalry,  who  fell  into  the  same 
mistake.  They  supposed  him  a  British  dragoon,  straggling 
from  his  corps,  and  gave  him  chase,  feeling  very  sure,  from  the 
direction  they  had  pressed  him  to  take,  that  they  must  soon 
drive  him  into  our  hands.  It  was  only  because  they  could  not 
keep  up  with  him  that  they  failed  to  witness  that  happy  denoue 
ment.  This  report  of  cavalry  in  the  enemy's  army,  of  course, 


IN    CAMP.  77 

furnished  us,  as  green  soldiers,  with  much  occasion  for  remark 
and  reflection.  We  had  a  pleasant  evening  in  camp  near  Bla- 
densburg.  Our  tents  were  pitched  on  the  slope  of  the  hill  above 
the  town  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  river.  Stansbury's  brigade 
of  drafted  militia  were  there,  and  Winder,  with  the  rest  of  the 
army,  which  altogether  perhaps  counted  nine  thousand  men, 
was  not  far  off.  He  was  falling  back  before  the  march  of  the 
enemy,  who  could  not  then  have  been  more  than  ten  or  twelve 
miles  off. 

The  afternoon  towards  sunset  was  mild  and  pleasant,  and 
we  had  leisure  to  refresh  ourselves  by  a  bath  in  the  Eastern 
Branch.  Our  camp  was  supplied  with  every  comfort,  and  we 
did  not  depend  upon  the  United  States  for  our  supper,  for 
Lige  was  sent  out  to  forage,  with  money  to  purchase  what  we 
wanted.  He  returned  about  dark  with  a  pair  of  chickens  and 
a  handful  of  tallow  candles,  which  seemed  to  be  an  odd  com 
bination  ;  and  upon  being  interrogated  by  me  what  it  meant,  he 
said  he  found  them  under  the  flap  of  a  tent  in  Stansbury's 
brigade,  and  being  perfectly  sure  that  they  were  stolen,  he 
thought  he  would  restore  them  to  their  proper  owners.  The 
stealing  was  probable  enough,  and  we  therefore  had  little  scru 
ple  in  consigning  the  fowls  to  Lige's  attentions  in  the  kitchen, 
and  finding  ourselves  with  an  extra  supply  of  candles,  we  in 
dulged  the  luxury  of  lighting  some  three  or  four,  which,  being 
fitted  into  the  band  of  a  bayonet  with  the  point  stuck  into  the 
ground,  gave  an  unusual  splendor  to  the  interior  of  our  tent. 
The  keg  in  which  we  kept  our  biscuit — Jamison's  best  crack 
ers — made  the  support  of  our  table — a  board  picked  from 
some  neighboring  house,  and  here  we  enjoyed  our  ease,  and 
ham,  chicken  and  coffee. 

My  feet  were  swollen  and  sore  from  my  day's  march  in 
boots,  such  as  none  but  a  green  soldier  would  ever  have  put 
on  •  so  for  my  comfort,  I  had  taken  them  off,  and  substituted 
my  neat  pair  of  pumps  from  the  pocket  of  my  knapsack,  and 
in  this  easy  enjoyment  of  rest  and  good  fellowship,  we  smoked 
our  cigars  and  talked  about  the  battle  of  to-morrow  until  the 


78  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

hour  when  the  order  of  the  camp  obliged  us  to  extinguish  our 
lights  and  "  turn  in." 

I  was  too  much  excited  by  the  novelty  and  attraction  of 
my  position  and  by  the  talk  of  my  comrades  in  the  tent,  to  get 
asleep  much  before  midnight.  About  an  hour  after  this 
— one  o'clock — we  were  aroused  by  the  scattered  shots  of  our 
pickets,  some  four  or  five  in  succession,  in  the  direction  of  the 
Maryborough  road,  and  by  the  rapid  beating  of  the  long  roll 
from  every  drum  in  the  camp.  Every  one  believed  that  the 
enemy  was  upon  us,  and  there  was  consequently  an  immense 
bustle  in  getting  ready  to  meet  him.  We  struck  a  light  to  be 
able  to  find  our  coats,  accoutrements,  etc.,  but  in  a  moment  it 
was  stolen  away  by  some  neighbor  why  came  to  borrow  it 
only  for  a  moment  to  light  his  own  candle,  and  in  the  con 
fusion  forgot  to  return  it.  This  gave  rise  to  some  ludicrous 
distresses.  Some  got  the  wrong  boots,  others  a  coat  that 
didn't  fit,  and  some  could  not  find  their  cross-belts.  There  was 
no  time  allowed  to  rectify  these  mistakes.  I,  luckily,  was  all 
right,  except  that  I  sallied  out  in  my  pumps.  We  were  form 
ed  in  line  and  marched  off  towards  the  front,  perhaps  a  mile, 
and  when  we  came  to  a  halt,  we  were  soon  ordered  to  march 
back  again  to  camp. 

What  was  the  cause  of  this  sudden  excursion  and  quick 
abandonment  of  it  I  never  learned.  But  it  was  evident  there 
was  a  false  alarm.  On  our  return  march  our  attention  was 
called  to  the  sudden  reddening  of  the  sky  in  the  direction  of 
the  lower  bridge  of  the  eastern  branch,  by  which  the  river  road 
from  Maryborough  crossed  to  Washington.  The  sky  became 
more  lurid  every  moment,  and  at  last  we  could  discern  the 
flames.  A  despatch  which  reached  us  when  we  got  back  to 
camp,  and  had  just  laid  down  again  to  sleep,  brought  us  infor 
mation  that  Winder  had  crossed  the  bridge  and  then  burnt  it 
to  impede  the  march  of  the  enemy,  who,  in  consequence,  was 
forced  to  direct  his  march  upon  the  Bladensburg  road.  Win 
der  himself  was  en  route  to  join  us,  and  we  were  ordered 
forthwith  to  break  up  our  camp  and  march  towards  Washing- 


BATTLE    OF    BLADKNSBUKG.  79 

ton.  Here  was  new  excitement — every  thing  was  gathered  up 
in  a  few  moments.  All  our  baggage  was  tossed  into  our  regi 
mental  wagon — knapsacks,  provisions,  blankets,  every  thing 
but  our  arms.  Among  them  went  my  boots.  The  tents 
were  struck  and  packed  away  with  the  speed  of  the  shifting  of 
a  scene  upon  the  stage,  and  in  half  an  hour  from  the  time  of 
receiving  the  order  we  were  in  full  column  of  march  upon  the 
road.  Descending  into  the  village  we  crossed  the  bridge  and 
moved  toward  Washington  ;  but  after  making  about  two  miles 
at  a  very  slow  pace,  we  found  ourselves  brought  to  a  halt,  and 
after  this  we  loitered,  as  slow  as  foot  could  fall,  along  the  road, 
manifestly  expecting  some  order  that  should  turn  us  back  to 
wards  the  village  we  had  left.  What  a  march  that  was !  I 
never  was  so  sleepy  in  my  life.  We  had  been  too  much  exhil 
arated  in  the  early  part  of  the  night  to  feel  the  fatigue  of  our 
day's  march,  but  now  that  fatigue  returned  upon  me  with  dou 
ble  force.  It  was  but  an  hour  or  two  before  day — that  hour 
when  the  want  of  sleep  presses  most  heavily  upon  all  animals 
that  go  abroad  by  day.  Nothing  could  keep  us  awake.  I 
slept  as  I  walked.  At  every  halt  of  a  moment  whole  platoons 
laid  down  in  the  dusty  road  and  slept  till  the  officers  gave  the 
word  to  move.  on.  How  very  weary  I  felt !  The  burning  of 
the  bridge  lighted  up  the  whole  southern  sky,  but  it  had  no 
power  to  attract  our  gaze.  At  length  when  we  had  reached 
a  hill  some  three  miles  on  our  route,  we  were  marched  into  a 
stubble  field  and  told  we  might  rest  till  daylight.  Here  we 
threw  ourselves  upon  the  ground  without  any  covering,  exposed 
to  the  heavy  dew  which  moistened  the  earth  and  hung  upon  the 
stubble,  and  slept.  Mine  was  the  sleep  of  Endymion.  When 
I  awoke  I  was  lying  on  my  back  with  the  hot  sun  of  a  summer 
morning  beaming  upon  my  face.  Our  orders  then  were  to  march 
back  to  Bladensburg.  Soon  we  had  the  famous  "  trial  of  souls" 
— the  battle  of  Bladensburg.  The  drafted  militia  ran  away  at  the 
first  fire,  and  the  Fifth  Regiment  was  driven  off  the  field  with 
the  bayonet.  We  made  a  fine  scamper  of  it.  I  lost  my 
musket  rn  the  mele^  while  bearing  off  a  comrade,  James  W. 


so 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


McCulloch,  afterwards  the  cashier  of  the  Branch  Bank  of  the 
U.  S.  in  Baltimore,  whose  leg  was  broken  by  a  bullet.  The 
day  was  very  hot,  and  the  weight  of  'my  wounded  companion 
great,  and  not  being  able  to  carry  both,  I  gave  my  musket  to 
a  friend  who  accompanied  me,  and  he,  afterwards  being  wound 
ed  himself,  dropped  his  own  weapon  as  well  as  mine. 

This  humorous  story  of  discomfiture,  after  all  the  prelimi 
nary  ebullition  of  youthful  valor,  scarcely  does  justice  to  the 
volunteers  and  their  associates,  and  fails  to  explain  the  cause 
of  defeat.  Another  of  the  brave  young  patriots,  Mr.  Seaton, 
who  was  active  on  that  occasion,  we  are  told, "  always  depreca 
ted  the  injustice  which  this  really  spirited  skirmish  received  at 
the  hands  of  history ;  and  was  glad  when  the  incidents  of  the 
action  were  placed  in  their  true  light  by  the  late  Colonel  John 
S.  Williams,  a  nephew  of  the  gallant  revolutionary  patriot, 
General  Otho  Williams,  of  Maryland,  and  a  participator  in  the 
events  he  impartially  relates  in  his  'Invasion  of •  Washing 
ton."'* 


*  "Life  of  William  Winston  Seatoii,"  pp.  115,  11G. 


BAI.TIMOKK.  81 


CHAPTER  II. 

Baltimore. — Historical  and  Social  reminiscences  ;  Local  and  Literary. 

r  I  ^HE  interest  which  Mr.  Kennedy  always  manifested  in 
JL  the  prosperity  of  his  native  city,  his  long  and  honorable 
identification  with  her  economical  progress  and  her  political 
and  educational  welfare  :  his  contributions  to  her  historical 
record,  and  the  estimation  in  which  his  name  is  held  by  her 
patriotic  children,  make  it  desirable,  in  a  memorial  of  his 
life,  to  glance  at  the  salient  points  in  those  local  influences  by 
which  he  was  surrounded,  and  through  which  he  exerted  so 
benign  and  prolonged  an- activity,  literary,  civic  and  social. 

The  community  in  which  Mr.  Kennedy's  life  was  spent, 
and  the  city  which  gave  him  birth,  have  always  been  more 
distinguished  for  commercial  enterprise  than  literary  culture  : 
in  this  respect,  like  most  of  our  mercantile  and  manufacturing 
centres,  forming  a  striking  contrast  to  the  capital  of  New 
England.  But  that  compensatory  principle  which  modern 
philosophers  recognize  in  the  elements  of  local  civilization,  is 
not  less  evident  in  the  fortunes  and  fame  of  Baltimore.  Her 
social  amenities,  educational  resources  and  legal  talent  are 
quite  as  remarkable  as  the  rapidity  of  her  economical  develop 
ment.  Before  the  revolution  a  little  town  of  five  thousand 
inhabitants,  and,  sixty  years  after,  the  third  city  in  the  Union, 
with  a  favorable  position  for  trade  was  combined,  in  her 
people,  a  rare  degree  of  public  spirit  and  intelligent  enter 
prise.  When,  in  1621,  Sir  George  Calvert,*  finding  the 


*  Vide  Mr.  Kennedy's  address  on  Ms  Life  and  Character  before  the 
Maryland  Historical  Society. 


£2  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

climate  of  his  tract  in  Newfoundland,  for  which  he  had 
obtained  a  charter  from  King  James,  ungenial,  and  the 
prospect  for  settlement  discouraging,  visited  Virginia  and 
Maryland,  and  obtained  a  grant  of  the  region  now  so-called, 
bequeathed  his  title  and  fortune  to  his  son  Cecilius  •  un 
der  the  latter's  auspices  two  hundred  persons  landed,  in 
February,  1634,  at  St.  Mary's,  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
Potomac,  and  near  its  junction  with  Chesapeake  Bay.  The 
liberal  conditions  of  emigration,  the  lucrative  tobacco  culture, 
and  the  refuge  the  colony  afforded  to  the  persecuted  Roman 
Catholics,  caused  the  region  to  increase  gradually  in  popula 
tion  and  prosperity. 

"  To  George  Calvert,"  it  has  been  justly  said,  "  the  immor 
tal  glory  is  due  of  having  laid  the  foundation  of  free  govern 
ment  in  America.  Living  in  the  enervating  atmosphere  of  a 
court — and  that  the  court  of  the  despotic  Stuarts — he  rose  su 
perior  to  his  early  training  and  his  constant  surroundings,  and 
adopted  the  beautiful  and  wise  maxim:  Peace  to  all, persecution 
of  none. 

"George  Calvert  died  on  the  15111  of  April,  1632.  The 
charter  was  executed  on  the  2oth  of  June  of  the  same  year, 
the  name  of  Cecilius  being  substituted  for  that  of  his  father. 
King  Charles  gave  the  name  of  Terra  Maries,  or  Maryland,,  to 
the  new  province,  in  honor  of  his  queen,  Henrietta  Maria, 
instead  of  Crescentia,  the  name  by  which  Calvert  had  deter 
mined  to  call  it. 

"  In  less  than  three  months  after  the  body  of  the  first  Lord 
Baltimore  was  deposited  in  the  chancel  of  St.  Dunstan's 
Church,  London,  the  patent  which  Charles  I.  had  promised 
him  was  issued  in  the  name  of  Cecilius  Calvert,  his  eldest  son 
and  the  successor  to  the  title.  To  him  was  entrusted  the 
fulfilment  of  his  father's  designs,  and  he  determined  to  carry 
it  out  at  once.  But  he  experienced  many  vexatious  delays  in 
England  and  great  opposition  in  Virginia.  At  length,  in  July, 
1633,  the  powerful  influence,  of  Wentworth  prevailed,  and  it 
was  decided  in  a  privy  council  that  Lord  Baltimore  should  not 


BALTIMORE.  83 

be  disturbed  in  his  undertaking ;  and  a  royal  letter  was 
despatched  to  the  governor  and  council  of  Virginia,  stating 
that  Lord  Baltimore  intended  to  transport  a  number  of 
persons  '  to  that  part  called  Maryland  which  we  have  given 
him ;'  and  they  were  commanded  to  afford  him  friendly  help 
and  assistance  in  furtherance  of  his  undertaking. 

"  Every  difficulty  being  overcome  and  every  arrangement 
completed,  the  colonists  who  were  to  commence  the  settle 
ment  of  Maryland,  sailed  from  the  Isle  of  Wight  on  the  220! 
of  November,  1633,  in  two  vessels — the  Ark,  a  ship  of  four 
hundred  tons,  and  the  Dove,  a  pinnace  of  fifty  tons.  The 
emigrants  numbered  two  hundred,  mostly  Catholic. 

"  On  the  3d  of  March  they  sailed  up  the  Cheaspeake,  and 
after  spending  three  weeks  in  exploring  the  numerous  and 
beautiful  rivers  of  Maryland,  they  finally  landed,  planted  the 
cross,  and  took  possession  of  '  the  country  for  our  Saviour 
and  for  our  sovereign  lord  the  king  of  England.'  Mass  was 
said  by  Father  White,  the  chaplain,  a  solemn  procession  was 
formed,  and  the  litany  of  the  cross  was  chanted." 

As  late  as  1729,  the  site  of  Baltimore  was  half  forest,  half 
farm  ;  at  that  period,  by  an  act  of  the  Assembly,  five  com 
missioners  were  authorized  to  lay  out  a  town,  and  the  domain 
on  which  it  rose  was  sold  by  Mr.  Carrol  for  forty  shillings  an 
acre.  And  old  chart,  drafted  by  John  Mole  in  1752,  indicates 
but  twenty-five  houses,  and  all  the  shipping  in  the  now  crowded 
port,  consisted  of  a  single  brig  and  sloop.  Four  years  later 
began  the  varied  emigration  that  originated  the  peculiar 
social  traits  of  the  community,  which  eventually  made  the 
lonely  scene  a  busy  mart  and  a  hospitable  home  to  thousands : 

Many  a  weary  year  had  passed  since  the  burning  of  Grand  Pre, 

When,  on  the  falling  tide  the  freighted  vessels  departed, 

"Rearing  a  nation  with  all  its  household  gods  into  exile, 

Far  asunder  on  separate  coasts  the  Arcadians  landed, 

Scattered  were  they  like  flakes  of  snow,  when  the  wind  from  the 

north-east, 
Strikes  aslant  through  the  fog,  that  darken  the  banks  of  Newfoundland 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

Friendless,  homeless,  hopeless,  they  wandered  from  city  to  city, 
From  the  cold  lakes  of  the  north  to  sultry  southern  savannahs.* 

And  one  band  of  these  French  refugees  settled  in  Baltimore; 
less  than  half  a  century  ago  there  were  venerable  survivors. 
After  Braddock's  defeat  an  Indian  incursion  was  so  imminent 
that  the  women  and  children  were  placed  in  boats  ready  for 
flight  at  the  approach  of  the  enemy,  so  small  were  the  means 
of  defence ;  and  up  to  the  advent  of  the  Revolution,  the 
increase  of  population  was  slow ;  no  newspaper  was  published 
until  1773 ;  merchants,  until  then,  advertised  in  Annapo 
lis  journals ;  tobacco  was  the  great  staple,  and  had  been  thus 
far  exported  by  the  agents  of  foreign  merchants,  who  re 
sided  at  landings  on  the  Chesapeake,  received  the  product 
from  the  planters,  made  advances  thereon,  and  shipped  it; 
these  agents  were  chiefly  English  and  Scotch.  Wheat  and 
Indian  corn  were  also  extensively  cultivated ;  by  degrees  a 
large  commerce  was  thus  initiated ;  and,  as  they  gained 
means,  the  Baltimore  merchants  owned  shipping  and  took  the 
lead,  until  their  town  became  the  best  market  and  acquired 
all  the  tobacco  of  the  State.  The  fisheries  of  the  Chesapeake 
became  lucrative  ;  trade  with  the  West  Indies  developed  ;  and 
in  1788,  Baltimore  ships  rounded  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope. 
During  the  war  of  the  French  Revolution  and  the  insurrec 
tion  in  St.  Domingo,  not  less  than  fifty-three  vessels  arrived 
with  a  thousand  white  and  five  times  as  many  colored  refu 
gees,  for  whose  immediate  relief  twelve  thousand  dollars  was 
raised  by  subscription.  The  greater  portion  of  these  exiles 
became  permanent  citizens ;  traces  of  their  influence  remain, 
less  distinct,  however,  than  formerly,  in  a  remarkably  faithful 
class  of  colored  servants ;  and  in  the  excellent  vegetables  for 
which  the  markets  of  the  city  were  long  celebrated,  and  which 
originated  in  the  frugal  skill  of  the  St.  Domingo  emigrants, 
who  applied  themselves  to  gardening  in  the  suburbs.  While 
war  in  Europe  increased  the  carrying  trade  of  Baltimore,  her 

*  Evangeline. 


direct  commerce  with  the  West  Indies  grew  yearly ;  in  return 
for  supplies  sent  them,  the  product  of  the  islands  was  brought 
back  and  exported  to  Europe  in  exchange  for  foreign  goods. 
As  importations  increased,  ship-building  became  a  great 
industrial  resource,  and  mechanical  employments  of  all  kinds 
flourished.  In  the  former  branch  Baltimore  attained  a  special 
eminence  for  swift  sailing  vessels  made  to  navigate  the  Chesa 
peake.  No  city  suffered  less  from  the  Berlin  decrees  as  her 
constant  intercourse  with  St.  Domingo  continued  to  prosper 
and  her  trade  with  the  East  Indies,  though  limited,  was  profit 
able.  Meantime  the  Baltimore  clippers  and  the  Virginia  pilot 
boats  were  models  of  swift  and  convenient  craft.  Thus, 
although,  from  time  to  time,  suffering  from  the  inevitable  vicis 
situdes  of  trade,  and  especially  by  over-trading  after  the  last  war 
with  England,  the  city  grew  in  wealth  and  population  with  un 
exampled  rapidity.  Among  the  inhabitants  by  whom  business 
was  carried  on,  in  these  early  and  palmy  days,  scarcely  one 
was  a  native ;  the  successful  merchants  were  from  Great 
Britain,  Germany,  New  England  and  Holland.  Hence  the 
remarkable  diversity  of  blood  and  variety  of  character  which 
make  up  the  population.  The  natural  resources  of  Balti 
more  account  for  her  prompt  expansion  when  capital  and 
labor  united  to  develop  them.  Situated  at  the  head  of  the 
Chesapeake,  the  nearest  market  to  the  West,  and  with  a  safe 
and  commodious  harbor,  no  sooner  were  lines  of  interior 
communication  opened,  than  it  became  a  great  centre  of 
trade.  These  began,  as  usual,  with  turnpikes  slowly  traversed, 
a  few  years  ago  by  stage-coaches,  which  brought  news  from 
Europe  by  the  way  of  Boston  in  a  week,  and  from  Philadelphia 
in  three  days  ;  then  came  canals,  the  coast  steamboat  navigation, 
finally  railways  —each  successive  facility  of  transit  adding  to 
the  local  trade  and  the  commercial  prosperky. 

It  has  been  well  said  that  "  there  is  one  important  physical 
fact  to  which  Baltimore,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  sea 
board  cities,  is  more  indebted  than  might  at  first  view  be  sup 
posed.  The  whole  Atlantic  coast  stretching  from  New  York 


SG  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

southward  is  composed  of  a  slope  where  the  continent  origi 
nally  terminated,  clearly  indentified  by  its  hard,  granite  rocks, 
and  the  plain  subsequently  made  by  the  deposits  from  the 
ocean.  At  this  line  of  demarkation  the  streams  that  flow  into 
the  sea  break  over  their  hard  granite  beds  in  waterfalls  or  rap 
ids,  which  intercept  the  progress  of  navigation.  Now  it  is  pre 
cisely  at  this  point  that  New  York,  Trenton,  Philadelphia, 
Baltimore,  Georgetown,  Richmond  and  Raleigh,  have  sprung 
up,  and  grown  into  an  importance  that  their  projectors  could 
hardly  have  predicted.  This  fact  demonstrates  how  vast  an 
influence  the  geological  formation  exercises  over  the  character 
of  a  country  and  the  movements  of  its  population." 

Manufactures  flourished  no  less  than  trade— the  Patapsco 
offering  effective  water-power;  and  while  droves  of  cattle 
from  the  West,  and  tobacco  and  wheat  from  the  adjacent 
counties,  found  a  mart  in  the  city,  the  well-protected  harbor 
was  frequented  by  a  large  fleet  of  coasting  vessels  and  ships 
from  Europe  and  the  Indies.  One  of  the  first  settlers  was 
a  quaker,  who  patented,  in  1662,  fifty  acres  of  land  on  what  is 
now  Whitestone  Point,  opposite  the  eastern  section  of  the  pres 
ent  town.  The  county-town  was  not  removed  to  Baltimore 
until  1767;  the  old  court-house  stood  on  the  site  of  the  pres 
ent  monument  in  Calvert  Street ;  and,  until  1808,  the  old- 
fashioned  whipping-post  was  adjacent  thereto;  in  1780  was 
erected  the,  first  custom-house,  and  in  1784  the  first  mar 
ket-house.  Although  thus  comparatively  recent  in  municipal 
and  maritime  importance,  educational  interests  early  occupied 
public  attention.  St.  Mary's  College,  a  Roman  Catholic  insti 
tution,  originated  in  1791,  and  although  suppressed  sixty  years 
after,  its  seminary  was  maintained  and  Loyola  College  sup 
plied  its  place  ;  Baltimore  College  was  chartered  in  1803  ;  sub 
sequently  united  to  the  medical  school,  it  became  the  University 
of  Maryland  ;  Washington  College  was  instituted  in  1828  ; 
Baltimore  Female  Colkge  the  next  year;  the  convents  of  the 
Visitation  and  the  Carmelites  are  among  the  oldest  religious 
asylums  in  the  city  ;  and  in  1829,  the  first  public  school  was 


BALTIMOIIK.  87 

opened  ;  within  the  present  decade,  the  number  of  pupils  at 
the  different  institutions  of  this  kind,  which  have  since  then 
been  established,  was  about  twelve  thousand,  with  two  hundred 
and  fifty  teachers  ;  the  Bible  is  read  in  the  public  schools  daily, 
the  King  James's  version  to  the  Protestants  and  the  Douay  to 
the  Romanists.  In  a  recent  report  it  is  stated  that  "not  a  single 
graduate  of  the  schools  has  ever  been  charged  with  or  convicted 
of  crime."  Besides  these  educational  resources  there  is  a  "  float 
ing  school"  for  making  sailors  ;  and  the  Maryland  Institute  of 
Mechanic  Arts,  the  Maryland  Historical  Society,  and  the 
Peabody  Institute  minister  to  popular  culture ;  with  an  endow 
ment  of  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  the  latter  establish 
ment,  with  its  gallery,  library,  concerts  and  lectures,  is  a  noble 
monument  of  private  beneficence  and  rare  and  accessible 
provision  for  literary  and  artistic  enjoyment  and  discipline. 
With  a  tasteful  public  spirit,  characteristic,  in  recent  years,  of 
American  communities,  Baltimore  has  embellished  and  hallow 
ed  her  picturesque  vicinage  with  a  finely  wooded  Park  and  a 
beautiful  Rural  Cemetery.  Nor  is  there  any  lack  of  hospitals, 
infirmaries,  and  asylums  for  the  indigent  and  suffering. 

Thus  French  refugees,  English  quakers,  Scotch  merchants, 
the  planter  from  St.  Domingo,  with  an  admixture  of  Irish  and 
Dutch,  combined  to  form  a  singularly  cosmopolitan  basis  of  lo 
cal  society,  wherein  the  shrewdness  of  the  New  Englander  and 
the  glow  of  the  Southerner,  harmoniously  coalesced  ;  from  the 
Romanist  convent  to  the  American  free  school,  the  West  In 
dian's  vegetable  garden  to  the  British  emigrant's  compting- 
house,  from  the  renowned  barister's  office  to  the  thrifty  me 
chanics'  neat  little  abodes,  were  to  be  recognized  varied  ele 
ments  of  liberal  enterprise  and  local  versatility  of  character, 
creed  and  vocation,  whereby  a  certain  social  toleration  and 
sympathy  was  fostered  unattainable  in  older  and  more  prescrip 
tive  communities.  To  these  and  other  more  latent  causes  we 
must  ascribe  the  peculiar  charm  of  Baltimore  society ;  even  the 
critical  reporters  of  our  social  anomalies  from  beyond  the  sea, 
have  been  conciliated  by  the  "  fine  climate,  cheerful  elegance 


88 


LIFE  OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


and  cordial  yet  dignified  hospitality"  of  Baltimore;  while  there 
in  past  times  have  foregathered,  as  on  a  common  and  congenial 
arena,  the  choicest  spirits  of  the  North  and  the  South  in  grate 
ful  companionship. 

No  city  is  so  ostensibly  identified  with  the  history  of  our 
last  war  with  Great  Britain  ;  against  her  fleet  Fort  McHenry 
successfully  defended  Baltimore  ;  and  in  her  most  eligible  dis 
trict,  a  monument  commemorates  those  who  fell  in  her  defence. 
With  a  flag  of  truce,  during  the  investment  of  Baltimore  by 
the  British,  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  the  release  of  a  friend, 
the  author  of  our  national  lyric  who  had  been  captured  at 
Marlborough,  and  was  held  a  prisoner  in  the  enemy's  fleet,  reach 
ed  the  mouth  of  the  Patapsco,  but  was  not  permitted  to  return 
lest  the  intended  attack  on  Baltimore  should  be  revealed  ; 
kept  under  the  guns  of  a  frigate,  he  was  obliged  to  witness  the 
bombardment  of  Fort  McHenry,  which  the  admiral  confidently 
declared  he  would  capture  in  a  few  hours  ;  Key  watched  the 
conflict  all  day  and  through  the  weary  and  anxious  night; 
when  morning  dawned,  the  flag  of  his  country  still  waved  tri 
umphant  on  the  rampart,  and  the  cheering  sight  inspired  him, 
in  an  hour  of  patriotic  exaltation,  to  write  the  "  Star  Spangled 
Banner,"  a  martial  lyric  which  has  endeared  his  name  to  his 
countrymen  and  survives,  by  virtue  of  its  national  senti 
ment  and  musical  emphasis,  all  his  other  effusions. 

Comfort  among  the  working  classes  has  long  been  a  distinct 
feature  in  the  population.  When  Dickens  first  saw  the  long 
rows  of  small,  cosy  brick  dwellings  in  Syracuse,  N.  Y.,  and 
learned  they  were  built  and  owned  by  mechanics—"  this,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  is  the  privilege  and  the  glory  of  America  ;  honest 
industry,  in  a  few  years,  enables  the  humblest  to  rise  in  the 
social  scale,  to  become  a  freeholder  and  own  his  dwelling, 
which,  with  the  Anglo-Saxon,  is  the  source  of  self-respect." 
Instead  of  the  crowded  tenement  houses  of  other  cities,  "  the 
neat,  thrifty  traders'  dwellings,"  separate  and  comfortable,  at 
test  a  more  hopeful  civilization  in  Baltimore.  The  city  has 
always  been  the  favorite  resort  of  epicures.  There  the  luxn- 


BALTIMORE. 

ries  of  life  abound,  from  the  peerless  canvas-back  duck  to  the 
unrivalled  oysters  and  unique  maderia ;  so  that,  with  the  ex 
cellent  fare,  the  refined  manners,  the  liberal  hospitality   and 
the  agreeable  atmosphere,  we  cannot  wonder  at  the  attachment 
of  the  natives  and  the  partiality  of  casual  residents.     The  vi 
cinity  of  Baltimore  to  Washington  and  intimate  association 
with  Virginia,  her  active  trade  with  the  West  and  the  influx  of 
Eastern  merchants,  account,  in  a  measure,  for  the    catholic 
spirit  of  her  society,  a  cross,  as  it  were,  between  the  Puritan 
and  Cavalier  traits  and  tone,  which  gives  such  individual  at 
traction  to  the  place  and  people.     With  the  increase  of  mate 
rial  prosperity,  Art  and  Letters  gained  upon  the  sympathies  of 
the  community,  which  soon  boasted  a  high  degree  of  musical 
culture,  and  some  of  the  earliest  and  best  private  collections 
of  pictures  and  sculpture    in  the  country.       The    Romanist 
character  of  Baltimore,  which  long  distinguished  its  religious 
community  from  the  Episcopal  predominance  in  the  Southern, 
the  Methodist  in  the  Western,  and  the  Presbyterian  in  the 
Eastern  States,  became  gradually  modified  by  Northern  emi 
gration  and  a  mixture  of  races,  so  that  now  its  population  offers 
as  great  a  variety  of  sects,  with  no  disproportionate  prosperity 
of  any  one,  as  the  other  American  cities ;  although  a  few  of 
the  old  and  aristocratic  Roman  Catholic  families  are  still  rep 
resented.     British  travellers  always  find  in  Baltimore  a  striking 
resemblance  to  an  English  town.     Anthony  Trollope,  in  not 
ing  the  fact,  observes  that  the  adjacent  region  is  just  what  a 
hunting  country  should  be,  and  cites  the  testimony  of  one  of 
the  old  citizens  that  packs  of  hounds  were  once  kept  by  the 
gentry ;  while  he  discovered  an  old  inn  with  wagons  in  the 
yard,  such  as  are  seen  to  this  day  in  the  towns  of  Somerset 
shire.     In  a  pleasant,  colloquial  lecture,  entitled  "  Baltimore 
Long  Ago,"  delivered  a  few  years  since,  Mr.  Kennedy  reverts 
to  the  aspect  and  social  traits  of  his  native  city,  in  the  days  of 
his  youth,  with  much  zest  and  humor : 

"  It  was  a  treat  to  see  this  little  Baltimore  town  just  at  the 
termination  of  the  war  of  Independence,"  he  writes,  "  so  con- 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

ceited,  bustling  and  debonair,  growing  up  like  a  saucy,  chubby 
boy,  with  his  dumpling  cheeks  and  short,  grinning  face,  fat  and 
mischievous,  and  bursting,  incontinently,  out  of  his  clothes 
in  spite  of  all  the  allowance  of  tucks  and  broad  salvages. 
Market  Street  had  shot,  like  a  Nuremburg  snake  out  of  its  toy 
box,  as  far  as  Congress  Hall,  with  its  line  of  low-browed, 
hipped-roofed  wooden  houses  in  disorderly  array,  standing 
forward  and  back,  after  the  manner  of  a  regiment  of  militia 
with  many  an  interval  between  the  files.  Some  of  these 
structures  were  painted  blue  and  white,  and  some  yellow ;  and 
here  and  there  sprang  up  a  more  magnificent  mansion  of 
brick,  with  windows  like  a  multiplication  table  and  great 
wastes  of  wall  between  the  stories,  with  occasional  court-yards 
before  them  ;  and  reverential  locust  trees,  under  whose  shade 
bevies  of  truant  school  boys,  ragged  little  negroes  and  gro 
tesque  chimney-sweeps,  '  shied  coppers'  and  disported  them 
selves  at  marbles." 

"  The  growth  of  a  city,"  he  adds,  "is  a  natural  process  which 
creates  no  surprise  to  those  who  grow  with  it,  but  it  is  ve^ 
striking  when  we  come  to  look  back  upon  it  and  compare  its 
aspect  at  different  and  distant  eras.  If  I  had  been  away  dur 
ing  that  long  interval  which  separates  the  past,  I  have  been 
describing,  from  the  present,  I  doubt  if  I  should  now  find  one 
feature  of  the  old  countenance  of  the  town  left.  Every  thing 
is  as  much  changed  as  if  there  was  no  consanguinity,  or  even 
acquaintance,  between  the  old  and  the  new. 

"  In  the  days  I  speak  of,  Baltimore  was  fast  emerging  from 
its  village  state  into  a  thriving  commercial  town.  Lots  were 
not  yet  sold  by  the  foot,  except,  perhaps,  in  the  denser  marts 
of  business ; — rather  by  the  acre.  It  was  in  the  rus-in-urbe 
category.  That  fury  for  levelling  had  not  yet  possessed  the 
souls  of  City  Councils.  We  had  our  seven  hills  then,  which 
have  been  rounded  off  since,  and  that  locality,  which  is  now 
described  as  lying  between  the  two  parallels  of  North  Ch'arles 
Street  and  Calvert  Street,  presented  a  steep  and  barren  hill 
side,  broken  by  rugged  cliffs  and  deep  ravines,  washed  out  by 


BALTIMORE.  01 

the  storms  of  winter,  into  chasms  which  were  threaded  by 
paths  of  toilsome  and  difficult  ascent.  On  the  summit  of  one 
of  these  cliffs  stood  the  old  Church  of  St.  Paul's,  some  fifty 
paces  or  more  to  the  eastward  of  the  present  church,  and  sur 
rounded  by  a  brick  wall  that  bounded  on  the  present  lines  of 
Charles  and  Lexington  Streets.  This  old  building,  ample 
and  stately,  looked  abroad  over  half  the  town.  It  had  a  belfry 
tower  detached  from  the  main  structure,  and  keeping  watch  over 
a  graveyard  full  of  tombstones,  remarkable-^-to  the  observa 
tion  of  the  boys  and  girls,  who  were  drawn  to  it  by  the  irre 
sistible  charm  of  a  popular  belief  that  it  was  *  haunted  ' — and  by 
the  quantity  of  cherubim  that  seemed  to  be  continually  crying 
above  the  death's  heads  and  cross  bones,  at  the  doleful  and 
comical  epitaphs  below  them. 

The  rain-washed  ravines  from  this  height  supplied  an  amuse 
ment  to  the  boys,  which  seems  to  have  been  the  origin  of  a 
sport  that  has  now  descended  to  their  grandchildren  in  an  im 
proved  and  more  practical  form.  These  same  hills  are  now 
cut  down  into  streets  of  rapid  descent,  which  in  winter,  when 
clothed  in  ice  and  snow,  are  filled  with  troops  of.  noisy  sled- 
ders  who  shoot,  with  the  speed  of  arrows,  clown  the  slippery 
declivity.  In  my  time,  the  same  pranks  were  enacted  on  the 
sandy  plains  of  the  cliff,  without  the  machinery  of  the  sled,  but 
on  the  unprotected  breeching  of  corduroy — much  to  the  dis 
content  of  mothers  who  had  to  repair  the  ravage,  and  not  al 
ways  without  the  practice  of  fathers  upon  the  same  breeching, 
by  way  of  putting  a  stop  to  this  expensive  diversion." 

Two  local  shrines  were  endeared  to  his  youth — the  Court- 
House  and  the  Theatre,  which  he  thus  describes : 

"  One  of  my  earliest  landmarks  is  the  epoch  of  the  old 
Court  House.  That  was  a  famous  building  which,  to  my  first 
cognizance,  suggested  the  idea  of  a  house,  perched  upt>n  a 
great  stool.  It  was  a  large,  dingy,  square  structure  of  brick, 
elevated  upon  a  massive  basement  of  stone,  which  was  perfor 
ated  by  a  broad  arch.  The  buttresses  on  either  side  of  the 
arch  supplied  space  for  a  stairway  that  led  to  the  Hall  of  Jus- 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

lice  above,  and  straddled  over  a  pillory,  whipping-post  and 
stocks  which  were  sheltered  under  the  arch,  as  symbols  of  the 
power  that  was  at  work  up  stairs. 

"  This  magisterial  edifice  stood  precisely  where  the  Battle 
Monument  now  stands  on  Calvert  Street.  It  has  a  notable 
history,  that  old  Court-House.  When  it  was  first  built  it  over 
looked  the  town  from  the  summit  of  the  hill  some  fifty  feet  or 
more  above  the  level  of  the  present  street,  and  stood  upon  a 
cliff  which,  northward,  was  washed  at  the  base  by  Jones's  Falls 
—in  that  primitive  day  a  pretty  rural  stream  that  meandered 
through  meadows  garnished  with  shrubbery  and  filled  with 
browsing  cattle,  making  a  pleasant  landscape  from  the  Court- 
House  windows. 

"  The  new  Court-House  arose — a  model  of  architectural 
magnificence  to  the  eye  of  that  admiring  generation,  only  sec 
ond  to  the  national  Capitol— and  the  old  one  was  carted 
away  as  the  rubbish  of  a  past  age.  Calvert  Street  straggled  on 
ward  to  the  granite  hills.  People  wonder  to  hear  that  Jones's 
Falls  ever  rippled  over  a  bed  now  laden  with  rows  of  comfort 
able  dwellings,  and  that  cows  once  browsed  upon  a  meadow 
that  now  produces  steam-engines,  soap  and  candles,  and  lager 
beer. 

"  Still  dear  to  me  is  the  memory  of  the  old  Court-House. 
I  have  a  sober  faith  that  the  peopb  of  the  days  of  the  old 
Court-House  and  the  old  Court-House  days  themselves  had 
more  spice  in  them,  were  more  genial  to  the  kindlier  elements 
that  make  life  worthy  to  be  loved,  than  any  days  we  have  had 
since.  The  youth  of  a  man  has  a  keener  zest  for  enjoyment 
and  finds  more  resource  for  it  than  mature  age.  Use  begets 
a  fastidious  appetite  and  disgust  for  cheap  pleasures,  while 
youth  lives  in  the  delight  of  constant  surprises  and  with  quick 
appreciation  and  thankful  reception  of  novelties. 

"  Next  after  the  old  Court-House,  and  in  vivid  associations 
far  ahead  of  it,  my  most  salient  memory  comes  up  from  the 
old  PI  ay-House.  We  had  not  got  into  the  euphuism  of  calling  it 
'the  theatre'  in  those  days,  or,  at  least,  that  elegance  was 


BALTIMORE.  93 

patronized  only  by  the  select  few  who  in  that  generation,  like 
the  select  few  of  the  present,  were  apt  to  be  caught  by  the  fan 
cy  of  a  supposed  refinement  in  the  substitution  of  Greek  for 
the  Anglo-Saxon.  The  '  Spectator'  and  the  *  Vicar  of  Wakefield' 
supplied  the  vocabulary  of  that  era,  and  I  think  Adclison, 
Johnson  and  Goldsmith  generally  followed  Ben  Johnson  and 
Shakspeare,  and  taught  people  to  call  it  the  Play-House.  I 
clare  say  the  actors— especially  the  young  ones  who  were 
proud  of  their  calling  and  were  inclined  to  strut,  in  speech  as 
well  as  on  the  boards— had,  even  then,  begun  to  naturalize  the 
new  word.  But  there  is  such  a  perfume  lingering  about  the 
old  vernacular — the  aroma  of  flowers  planted  by  it  when  all 
the  world  was  fragrant  to  me— that  I  cannot  give  it  up  with 
out  risk  of  dulling  the  husbandry  which  yet  keeps  these  fine 
odors,  alive. 

"'The  Theatre'  would  bring  me  to  a  later  period,  when  the 
foot-lights  were  no  longer  fed  with  oil,  when  the  glass  diamonds 
and  tinsel  had  lost  their  reality,  and  the  stage  had  begun  to  re 
veal  its  tawdry  secrets,  to  the  disenchantment  of  that  beautiful 
school-boy  faith  with  which  I  plunged  into  this  weird  world  of 
faerie. 

"This  Play-House  stood  in  Holiday  Street  just  where  the 
present  '  Theatre'  now  stands.  What  a  superb  thing  it  was  !— 
speaking  now  as  my  fancy  imagined  it  then.  It  had  some 
thing  of  the  splendor  of  a  great  barn,  weather-boarded,  milk 
white,  with  many  windows  and,  to  my  conception,  looked  with 
a  hospitable,  patronizing,  tragi-comic  greeting  down' upon  the 
street.  It  never  occurred  to  me  to  think  of  it  as  a  piece  bf  ar 
chitecture.  It  was  something  above  that— a  huge,  mystical 
Aladdin  lamp  that  had  a  magic  to  repel  criticism,  and  filled 
with  wonderful  histories.  There  Blue  Beard  strangled  his 
wives  and  hung  them  on  pegs  in  the  Blue  Chamber ;  and  the 
glorious  Valentine  overcame  his  brother  Orson,  by  the  clever 
trick  of  showing  him  his  own  image  in  a  wonderful  shield  of 
looking-glass,  which,  of  course,  we  believed  to  be  pure  burn 
ished  silver  :  and  there  the  Babes  in  the  Wood  went  to  sleep 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 

under  the  coverlet  provided  for  them  by  the  charitable  robins 
that  swung  down    upon  wires — which  we  thought  was  even 
superior  to  the  ordinary  manner  of  flying ;  and  the  ghost  of 
Gaffer  Thumb  came  up  through  the  floor,  as  white  as  a  dredge- 
box  of  flour  could  make  him— much  more  natural  than  any 
common  ghost  we  had  seen.     Alas  !  what  has  become  of  Or- 
cobrand's  Cave  and  the  Wood  Demon  and  the  Castle  Spectre, 
and  all  the  rest  of  those  delightful  old  horrors  which  used  to 
make  our  hair  stand  on  end  in  delicious  ecstasy  in  those  days  ? 
This  reflection  gives  me  rather  a  poor  opinion  of  the  modern 
drama,  and  so  I  do  not  look  much  after  it.     In  fact,  I  suspect 
this  age  to  be  greatly  behind  ours  in  these  terrible  fascinations. 
Young  America  is  evidently  not  so  easily  scared  as  old  Amer 
ica  was  :  it  has   a  sad  propensity  towards  fast  trotters  and  to 
that  wretched  business  of  driving  buggies,  which  has  spoiled 
the  whole  generation  of  young  gentlemen,  and  made  a  good 
cavalry  officer,  just  now,  an  impossibility  or,  at  least,  a  virtuous 
exception  in  one  half  of  the  country.     The  age  is  too  fast  for 
the  old  illusions,  and  the   theatre  now  deals  in  respectable 
swindlers,  burglars  and  improper  young  ladies  as  more  conso 
nant  with  the  public  favor  than  our  old  devils,  ghosts  and  as 
sassins,  which  were   always  shown  in  their  true  colors,  and 
were  sure  to  be  severely  punished  when  they  persecuted  inno 
cence. 

"The  players  were  part  and  parcel  of  the  Play-House,  and 
therefore  shared  in  the  juvenile  admiration  with  which  it  was 
regarded!  In  fact,  there  was  a  misty  confusing  of  the  two, 
which  destroyed  the  separate  identity  of  either.  The  Play-House 
was  a  compound  idea  of  a  house  filled  with  mountains,  old 
castles  and  cities  and  elderly  gentlemen  in  wigs,  brigands,  fai 
ries  and  demons,  the  whole  making  a  little  cosmos  that  was  only 
connected  with  the  world  by  certain  rows  of  benches  symmet 
rically  arranged  into  boxes,  pit  and  gallery,  where  mankind 
were  drawn  by  certain  irresistible  affinities  to  laugh  and  weep 
and  clap  their  hands,  just  as  the  magicians  within  should  choose 
to  have  them  do. 


BALTIMORE.  95 

"  Of  course,  there  was  but  one  Play-House  and  one  company 
of  actors.  Two  or  more  would  have  destroyed  that  impression 
of  the  supernatural,  or  rather  the  extra-natural,  which  give  to 
the  show  its  indescribable  charm.  A  cheap  and  common  illu 
sion  soon  grows  stale  Christy's  Minstrels  may  be  repeated 
every  night,  and  people  will  only  get  tired  of  the  bad  jokes  and 
cease  to  laugh ;  but  Cinderella  and  her  glass  slipper  would 
never  endure  it.  The  fairy  bubbles  would  burst,  and  there 
would  be  no  more  sparkling  of  the  eyes  of  the  young  folks  with 
the  delight  of  wonder.  Even  Lady  Macbeth,  I  believe,  would 
become  an  ordinary  sort  of  person  in  'a  run' — such  as  is  com 
mon  now.  The  players  understood  this,  and  therefore  did  not 
allow  themselves  to  grow  too  familiar.  One  company  served 
Baltimore  and  Philadelphia,  and  they  had  their  appointed  sea 
sons — a  few  months  or  even  weeks  at  a  time — and  they  played 
only  three  times  a  week.  'The  actors  are  coming  hither,  my 
lord,'  would  seem  to  intimate  that  this  was  the  condition  of 
things  at  Elsinore — one  company  and  a  periodical  visit.  There 
was  a  universal  gladness  in  this  old  Baltimore  when  the  word 
was  passed  round — 'The  players  are  come.'  It  instantly  be 
came  everybody's  business  to  give  them  a  good  reception.  They 
were  strange  creatures  in  our  school-boy  reckoning — quite  out 
of  the  common  order  of  humanity.  We  ran  after  them  in  the 
streets  as  something  very  notable  to  be  looked  at.  It  was  odd 
to  see  them  dressed  like  gentlemen  and  ladies — almost  incon 
gruous,  we  sometimes  thought,  as  if  we  expected  to  see  them 
in  slashed  doublet  and  hose,  with  embroidered  mantles  and  a 
feather  in  their  caps.  'There  goes  Old  Francis,'  was  our 
phrase ;  not  that  he  was  old,  for  he  was  far  from  it,  but  because 
we  loved  him.  It  was  a  term  of  endearment.  And  as  to  Jef 
ferson  !  Is  there  anybody  now  who  remembers  that  imp  of  an 
cient  fame?  I  cannot  even  now  think  definitely  of  him  as  a 
man — except  in  one  particular,  that  he  had  a  prominent  and 
rather  arclrng  nose.  In  regard  to  every  thing  else  he  was  a 
Proteus — the  nose  always  being  the  same.  He  played  every 
thing  that  was  comic,  and  always  made  people  laugh  till  tears 


96  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

came  to  their  eyes.  Laugh !  Why,  I  don't  believe  he  ever  saw 
the  world  doing  any  thing  else.  Whomsoever  he  looked  at 
laughed.  Before  he  came  through  the  side  scenes  when  he 
was  about  to  enter  O.  P.  or  P.  S.,  he  would  pronounce  the  first 
words  of  his  part  to  herald  his  appearance,  and  instantly  the 
whole  audience  set  up  a  shout.  It  was  only  the  sound  of  his 
voice.  He  had  a  patent  right  to  shake  the  world's  diaphragm 
which  seemed  to  be  infallible.  No  player  comes  to  that  per 
fection  now.  Actors  are  too  cheap,  and  all  the  hallucination 
is  gone. 

"  When  our  players  came,  with  their  short  seasons,  their 
three  nights  in  the  week,  and  their  single  company,  they  were 
received  as  public  benefactors,  and  their  stay  was  a  period  of 
carnival.  The  boxes  were  engaged  for  every  night.  Families 
all  went  together,  young  and  old.  Smiles  were  on  every  face  : 
the  town  was  happy.  The  elders  did  not  frown  on  the  drama, 
the  clergy  levelled  no  cannon  against  it,  the  critics  were  amia 
ble.  The  chief  actors  were  invited  into  the  best  company,  and 
I  believe  their  personal  merits  entitled  them  to  all  the  esteem 
that  was  felt  for  them.  But,  among  the  young  folks,  the  ap 
preciation  was  far  above  all  this.  With  them  it  was  a  kind  of 
hero  worship  prompted  by  a  conviction  that  the  player  was 
that  manifold  creature  which  every  night  assumed  a  new  shape, 
and  only  accidentally  fell  into  the  category  of  a  common  mor 
tal.  And,  therefore,  it  seemed  so  interesting  to  us  to  catch 
one  of  them  sauntering  on  the  street  looking  like  other  people. 
That  was  his  exceptional  character,  and  we  were  curious  to 
see  how  he  behaved  in  it — and,  indeed,  thought  him  a  little 
awkward  and  not  quite  at  his  ease  in  that  guise.  How  could 
old  Francis  be  expected  to  walk  comfortably  in  Suwarow  boots 
and  a  stove-pipe  hat — he  who  had,  last  night,  been  pursu 
ing  Columbine  in  his  light  suit  of  triangular  patch-work,  with 
his  wooden  sword,  and  who  so  deftly  dodged  the  police  by 
making  a  somersault  through  the  face  of  a  clock,  and  dis 
appearing  in  a  chest  of  drawers  ;  or  who,  the  night  before 
that,  was  a  French  dancing-master,  and  ran  away  with  a  pret- 


BALTIMORE. 

ty  ward  of  across  old  gentleman,  who  wanted  to  marry  her 
himself!" 

We  may  add  to  these  vivid  reminiscences  a  later  picture  of 
Baltimore  from  the  pen  of  one  whose  life  Mr.  Kennedy  has 
written  with  sympathetic  insight : 

"  Yesterday  morning,"  wrote  William  Wirt  to  his  wife  from 
Baltimore  in  1822,  "I  arose  before  day,  shaved  and  dressed 
by  candle-light,  took  my  cane  and  walked  to  market.  There 
are  two  market-houses,  each  of  them  about  two  or  three  times 
as  long  as  ours  in  Washington.  Oh  !  what  a  quantity  of  superb 
beef,  mutton,  lamb,  veal  and  all  sorts  of  fowls — hogsheads  full 
of  wild  ducks,  geese,  pheasants,  partridges !  I  must  not  forget 
to  mention  the  load  of  sweet  cakes,  of  all  sorts  and  fashions, 
that  covered  the  outside  tables  of  the  market-place  and  the  break 
fasts  that  were  cooking  everywhere  for  the  country  people  who 
had  come  many  miles  to  market.  After  walking  about  a  mile 
I  came  to  the  summit  of  a  hill.  The  ground  had  begun  to 
smoke  from  the  warmth  of  the  rising  sun,  and  the  city  seemed 
to  spread  itself  out  before  me  to  a  vast  extent,  a  huge,  dusky, 
mass,  to  which  there  seemed  no  limit.  But  towering  above  the 
fog  was  the  Washington  monument,  a  single  beautiful  column, 
one  hundred  and  sixty  feet  high,  which  stands  in  Howard  Park 
(and  is  rendered  indescribably  striking  from  the  touching  sol 
itude  of  the  scene  from  which  it  lifts  its  head),  and  several 
noble  steeples  of  churches,  interspersed  throughout  the  west 
of  the  city,  whose  gilded  summits  were  now  glittering  in  the 
sun.  Casting  the  eyes  over  Baltimore,  it  lights  upon  the  Ches 
apeake  Bay,  and  after  wandering  over  that  flood  of  water  it 
rests  on  Fort  McHenry  and  its  star  spangled  banner.  No  city 
in  the  world  has  a  more  beautiful  country  around  it  than  Bal 
timore,  in  the  direction  of  the  west.  The  grounds,  which  were 
originally  poor,  have  been  made  rich :  they  lie  very  finely,  ris 
ing  and  falling  in  forms  of  endless  diversity.  This  beautiful, 
undulating  surface  has  been  improved  with  great  taste,  the 
fields  richly  covered  with  grass,  the  groves,  clumps  of  trees  and 
forests  pruned  of  dead  timber  and  all  deformities,  and  flourish- 
5 


LIFE    OF    JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

ing  in  strong  and  healthy  luxuriance.  The  sites  for  the  houses 
are,  well  selected,  always  upon  some  eminence  embosomed  amid 
beautiful  trees,  from  which  their  white  fronts  peep  out  enchant- 
ingly." 

What  literary  associations  obtained  in  this  comparatively 
new  society  were  identified  with  the  Bar  and  the  Newspaper 
press.  In  the  former  sphere  and  subsequently,  as  American 
Minister  to  England  and  Naples,  then  as  Attorney-General,  and 
Senator  of  the  United  States,  and  as  a  patriot  soldier,  Wil 
liam  Pinkney  had  achieved  a  wide  and  eminent  fame,  and  as 
an  orator  had  few  equals  in  the  country ;  while,  at  the  time 
of  his  death,  he  was  the  acknowledged  head  of  the  American 
Bar.  The  province  of  Maryland  had  been  famous  among  the 
colonies  for  a  long  line  of  learned  and  able  lawyers  ;  Pinkney 
studied  his  profession  with  Mr.  Justice  Chase,  an  eminent  prac 
titioner  ;  and  on  his  first  appearance  in  the  courts  was  recog 
nized  as  an  adept  in  forensic  eloquence ;  in  the  law  of  Real 
Property  he  was  thoroughly  versed  and  a  master  in  the  science 
of  special  pleeding.  While  in  England  he  was  the  companion 
of  Scott  and  Erskine,  and  on  his  return  devoted  himself  to  the 
study  of  English  literature,  whereby  he  acquired  a  happy 
choice  of  language;  a  zealous  volunteer  officer  in  the  war  of  1812, 
he  addressed  an  able  appeal  to  the  people  of  his  native  state ; 
the  address  to  Mr.  Madison,  at  the  close  of  the  war,  from  the 
citizens  of  Baltimore,  was  also  drafted  by  Pinkney.  He  com 
manded  his  corps  with  great  gallantry,  and  after  the  battle  of 
Bladensburg,  wherein  he  was  severely  wounded,  his  battalion 
sent  him  a  highly  complimentary  address ;  and  when  he  died, 
his  eulogy  was  eloquently  pronounced  by  Marshall,  Clay  and 
Webster. 

"  No  man,"  says  Mr.  Kennedy  in  his  "Life  of  Wirt,"  "ever 
drew  forth  a  larger  share  of  mingled  applause  and  censure,  or 
was  visited  with  more  exaggerated  extremes  of  opinion.  He 
was  popular  as  a  political  champion  and  he  had  acquired  a 
high  standing  in  the  country  for  his  diplomatic  service." 
While  the  oratory  of  William  Pinkney  is  one  of  the  cher- 


BALTIMORE.  99 

ished  social  traditions  of  Baltimore,  a  few  tender  and  favorite 
lyrics  keep  alive  the  memory  of  his  son,  Edward  Coates  Pink- 
ney,  who  was  born  in  London  in  1802,  and  died  in  Baltimore, 
at  the  age  of  twenty-six  ;  a  graduate  of  St.  Mary's  College,  he 
entered  the  navy ;  afterwards  studied  and  practiced  law  and 
edited  a  political  journal  in  Baltimore,  until  ill-health  obliged 
him  to  retire  from  active  life.  His  little  volume  of  Poems, 
published  anonymously,  was  a  literary  novelty  when  it  ap 
peared  in  1825,  and  was  justly  deemed  a  work  of  poetical 
promise,  not  so  much  on  account  of  the  principal  poem, 
"  Rudolph,"  as  because  of  a  rare  musical  grace  and  genuine 
sentiment  manifest  in  the  lyrical*  strains  ;  two  of  them — "A 
Health"  and  "Picture  Song,"  still  hold  their  place  among  our 
few  but  endeared  household  verses  of  native  origin. 

During  the  intervals  of  his  legal  duties,  as  professor  and 
practitioner,  David  Hoffman  wrote  many  pleasant  and  instruc 
tive  essays,  which  were  collected  and  published  under  the  ti 
tles  of  "  Thoughts  on  Men,  Manners  and  Things,"  and  "  Via 
tor,"  embodying  the  fruit  of  extensive  reading,  of  observation, 
reflection  and  travel ;  and  in  1853,  appeared  in  London  from 
the  same  pen,  the  first  volume  of  a  condensed  history  of  the 
world  since  the  birth  of  Christ,  under  the  guise  of  "  Chroni 
cles  Selected  from  the  Original  of  Cartaphilus,  the  Wandering 
Jew." 

-  Under  date  of  November  i4th,  1854,  Mr.  Kennedy  writes  : 
"  We  have  news  of  the  death,  by  paralysis,  of  David  Hoffman. 
He  died  in  New  York,  on  Sunday.  He  was  a  man  of  singu 
lar  learning  and  various  study ;  and  has  written  some  clever 
books,  among  them  "  Chronicles  of  Cartaphilus,  the  Wander 
ing  Jew  " — a  strange  work,  full  of  erudition." 

Brantz  Mayer,  another  Baltimore  author,  who  was  educated 
at  St.  Mary's  and  had  travelled  in  India,  gave  to  the  public  two 
interesting  and  valuable  works  on  Mexico  ;  his  discourse  before 
the  Maryland  Historical  Society,  in  1851,  is  noteworthy  as  a 
vindication  of  an  honest  backwoodsman  against  the  famous 
speech  of  Logan,  the  Indian  chief;  while  his  story  of  Captain 


100  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

Canot,  which  appeared  three  years  after  and  describes  twenty 
years  of  an  African  cruiser's  adventures,  has  been  compared 
with  the  writings  of  De  Foe;  two  of  the  most  efficient  liter 
ary  institutions  of  Baltimore— the  Athenaeum  and  Historical 
Society,  are  largely  indebted  to  the  liberal  encouragement  of 
Brantz  Mayer.  Edgar  Allen  Poe  was  born  and  died  in  Balti 
more. 

Some  of  the  earliest  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  literary  experiments 
were  tried  in  the  columns  of  a  weekly  journal  called  the  Por 
tico,  which  flourished  in  Baltimore  in  1816,  to  which  paper 
Paul  Allen,  Pierpont  and  John  E.  Hall  contributed ;  the  lat 
ter  soon  emigrated  to  Philadelphia  to  edit  the  Portfolio :  jo 
cose  paragraphs,  coarse  epigrams,  essays  and  sketches  of 
travel,  now  and  then,  appeared  in  the  local  papers  of  the  city. 
General  Harper  wrote  several  political  tracts  before  he  came 
to  Baltimore  and  some  pamphlets  on  Internal  Improvements 
afterwards  ;  and  among  the  casual  poetic  effusions  still  re 
membered  is  a  beautiful  lyrical  reply  to  Richard  H.  Wilde's 
"  My  Life  is  Like  the  Summer  Rose,"  attributed  to  Mrs.  Buck 
ler. 

Several  New  England  writers,  subsequently  known  to  fame, 
identified  their  early  literary  efforts  with  a  residence  in  Balti 
more  ;  among  them,  Jared  Sparks,  John  Pierpont,  John  Neal, 
and,  at  a  later  period,  Bishop  Coxe.  But  it  was  with  the  Bar 
and  Journalism  that  local  literature  was  chiefly  associated  ;  as 
editors  of  or  contributors  to  the  leading  journal — the  Baltimore 
American,  we  find  George  Henry  Calvert,  a  lineal  descendant 
of  the  original  Proprietary  of  Maryland,  and  most  favorably 
known  by  his  "Gentleman,"  "  Scenes  and  Thoughts  in  Eu 
rope,"  translations  from  the  German  and  other  writings  ;  Peter 
Cruse,  a  gifted  writer  who  died  young -and  the  subject  of  this 
memoir. 


SOCIAL    MFE.  101 


CHAPTER  III. 

Law  Studies  ;  Social  Life  ;  Admitted  to  tlie  Bar ;  Eminent  Lawyers 
Of  Baltimore;  Friendships;  "The  Red  Book;"  Death  of  Cruse; 
Public  Life  ;  Pinkney  ;  Member  of  the  House  of  Delegates  ;  Ap 
pointed  Minister  to  Chili ;  Declines ;  Marriage ;  Death  of  his 
Wife  ;  Fox -Hunting. 

/CONTINUING  his  law  studies,  after  the  brief  military  epi- 
V^  sode,  Mr.  Kennedy  entered  the  office  of  Walter  Dorsey, 
Esq.,  an  eminent  practitioner  of  Baltimore.  He  applied  himself, 
with  much  zeal  and  conscientiousness,  for  several  months  to  this 
professional  discipline,  alternating,  however,  his  reading  of 
Coke  and  Blackstone,  with  lighter  literature,  and  seeking  rec 
reation  in  social  intercourse.  At  the  period  of  his  youth  and 
early  manhood,  society  in  Baltimore  was  singularly  attractive. 
Comparatively  limited  it  was  on  that  account  more  intimately 
associated ;  there  was  a  frank  and  free  intercourse  between 
the  young  and  a  lively  interest  in  them  on  the  part  of  their 
elders,  which  is  only  realized  where  a  few  families  depend 
on  each  other  for  social  enjoyment,  that  is  fused  and  fostered 
by  a  social  sympathy  which  is  impracticable  when  communi 
ties  are  large  and  made  up  of  the  various  elements  incident  to 
our  age  of  more  facile  communication.  The  young  people  be 
longing  to  the  better  families  in  Baltimore,  sixty  years  ago, 
were  more  like  brothers  and  sisters  than  mere  neighbors  ;  they 
met  constantly  at  each  other's  houses  for  a  dance  or  musical 
practice ;  the  fashion  of  extravagant  entertainments,  other 
than  prandial,  did  not  obtain ;  most  of  the  youths  had  their 
way  to  make  in  the  world,  and  the  young  girls  set  an  example 
of  frugal  fun  by  what  they  called  "cotton-cambric  parties," 


1  AO 

fcltfE    OF    Jf.HX    P.  KENNEDY. 


wherein  all  luxury  of  toilette  was  prohibited.  The  womanly 
charms,  as  distinguished  from  mere  intellectual  pretension  on 
the  one  hand,  and  worldly  hardihood  on  the  other,  which  has 
long  been  recognized  as  a  rare  and  lovable  characteristic  of 
Maryland  women,  may  doubtless  be  traced,  in  a  measure,  to 
the  candid  and  kindly,  yet  high-bred  and  genial  intercourse 
thus  prevalent.  The  pure  and  self-respecting  but  comparatively 
unambitious  domestic  education  of  that  day,  confirmed  and 
conserved  what  is  most  beautiful  and  attractive  in  the  sex. 
Not  a  few  fair  Baltimoreans  of  the  period,  owe  their  intelligent 
principles  of  action  and  the  religious  elevation  of  their  senti 
ments,  to  the  benign  influence  of  Margaret  Mercer,  a  rarely 
endowed  and  widely  endeared  daughter  of  our  revolutionary 
aristocracy,  who,  for  many  years,  was  the  favorite  female 
teacher  in  the  State,  and  became  the  life-long  friend  of  her  pu 
pils  ;  the  few  who  still  survive  hold  her  memory  in  tender  and 
reverent  gratitude. 

The  following  extracts  from  the  reminiscent  discourse  of 
Mr.  Kennedy,  bring  clearly  to  our  minds  the  life  and  manners 
of  that  day,  and  the  changes  which  the  author  lived  to  witness 
and  record. 

"As  communities  grow  in  density  and  aggregation,  the  indi 
viduality  of  men  diminishes.  People  attend  to  their  own  con 
cerns  and  look  less  to  their  neighbors.  Society  breaks  into 
sects,  cliques  and  circles,  and  these  supersede  individuals.  In 
the  old  time,  society  had  its  leaders,  its  models  and  dictators. 
There  is  always  the  great  man  of  the  village  ;— seldom  such  a 
thing  in  the  city.  It  was  the  fashion  then  to  accord  reverence 
and  authority  to  age.  That  is  all  gone  now.  Young  America 
has  rather  a  small  opinion  of  its  elders,  and  does  not  patronize 
fathers  and  mothers.  It  knows  too  much  to  be  advised,  and 
gets,  by  intuition,  what  a  more  modest  generation  found  it  hard 
enough  to  get  by  experience.  If  we  could  trace  this  notion 
through  all  its  lodgments,  we  should  find  that  this  want  of  rev 
erence  and  contempt  of  obedience  is  the  deepest  root  of  this 
mad  rebellion. 


SOCIAL    LIFE.  103 

"  Baltimore  had  passed  out  of  the  village  phase,  but  it  had 
not  got  out  of  the  village  peculiarities.  It  had  its  heroes  and 
its  fine  old  gentlemen,  and  its  accomplished  lawyers,  divines 
and  physicians,  and  its  liberal,  public-spirited  merchants. 
Alas !  more  then  than  now.  The  people  all  knew  them  and 
treated  them  with  amiable  deference.  How  sadly  we  have  ret 
rograded  in  these  perfections  ever  since  ! 

11  Society  had  a  more  aristocratic  air  than  now — not  because 
the  educated  and  wealthy  assumed  more,  but  because  the  com 
munity  itself  had  a  better  appreciation  of  personal  worth,  and 
voluntarily  gave  it  the  healthful  privilege  of  taking  the  lead  in 
the  direction  of  manners  and  in  the  conducting  of  public  af 
fairs.  This  was,  perhaps,  the  lingering  characteristic  of  colo 
nial  life,  which  the  revolution  had  not  effaced, — the,  as  yet,  un- 
extingu'shed  traditional  sentiment  of  a  still  older  time — of 
which  all  traces  have  been  obliterated  by  the  defective  discip 
line  of  succeeding  generations. 

"  I  have  a  long  score  of  pleasant  recollections  of  the  friend 
ships,  the  popular  renowns,  the  household  charms,  the  bon 
homie,  the  free  confidences  and  the  personal  accomplish 
ments  of  that  day.  My  memory  yet  lingers  with  affectionate 
delay  in  the  wake  of  past  notabilities,  male  and  female,  who 
have  finished  their  voyage  and  long  ago,  I  trust,  found  a  safe 
mooring  in  that  happy  haven,  where  we  fondly  expect  to  find 
them  again  when  we  ourselves  shall  have  furled  our  sails  and 
secured  an  anchorage  on  that  blessed  shore. 

"  In  the  train  of  these  goodly  groups  came  the  gallants  who 
upheld  the  chivalry  of  the  age  ; — cavaliers  of  the  old  school, 
full  of  starch  and  powder:  most  of  them  the  iron  gentlemen  of 
the  Revolution,  with  leather  faces — old  campaigners,  renowned 
for  long  stories, — not  long  enough  from  the  camp  to  lose  their 
military  brusquerie  and  dare-devil  swagger ;  proper,  roystering 
blades  who  had  not  long  ago  got  out  of  harness  and  begun  to 
affect  the  elegancies  of  civil  life.  Who  but  they ! — jolly-  fel 
lows,  fiery  and  loud,  with  stern  glance  of  the  eye  and  brisk 
turn  of  the  head,  and  swash-buckler  strut  of  defiance,  like  game 


104:  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

cocks,  all  in  three-cornered  cocked-hats  and  powdered  hair 
and  cues,  and  light-colored  coats  with  narrow  capes  and  long 
backs,  and  pockets  on  each  hip,  small-clothes  and  striped  stock 
ings,  shoes  with  great  buckles,  and  long  steel  watch  chains 
suspending  an  agate  seal,  in  the  likeness  of  the  old  sounding- 
boards  hung  above  the  pulpits.  And  they  walked  with  such 
a  stir,  striking  their  canes  upon  the  pavement  till  it  rang  again. 
I  defy  all  modern  coxcombry  to  produce  any  thing  equal  to  it. 
There  was  such  a  relish  of  peace  after  the  war,  so  visible  in 
every  movement.  It  was  a  sight  worth  seeing,  when  one  of 
these  weather-beaten  gallants  accosted  a  lady  on  the  street. 
There  was  a  bow  which  required  the  whole  width  of  the  pave 
ment,  a  scrape  of  the  foot  and  the  cane  thrust  with  a  flourish 
under  the  left  arm  and  projecting  behind  in  a  parallel  line 
with  the  cue.  And  nothing  could  be  more  piquant  than  the 
lady's  return  of  this  salutation,  in  a  courtesy  that  brought  her, 
with  bridled  chin  and  a  most  winning  glance,  half  way  to  the 
ground.  And  such  a  volume  of  dignity  ! 

"  It  was  really  a  comfort  to  see  a  good  housewifely  matron 
of  that  merry  time,  trudging  through  town  in  bad  weather, 
wrapped  up  in  a  great  '  roquelaire,'  her  arms  thrust  into  a 
huge  muff,  and  a  tippet  wound  about  her  neck  and  shoulders 
in  as  many  folds  as  the  serpent  of  Laocoon,  a  beaver  hat  close 
over  her  ears,  and  her  feet  shod  in  pattens  that  lifted  her 
above  all  contact  with  mud  and  water,  clanking  on  the  side 
walks  with  the  footfall  of  the  spectre  of  the  Bleeding  Nun. 

<;  Even  the  seasons  were  on  a  scale  of  grandeur  unknown  to 
the  present  time.  There  were  none  of  your  soft  Italian  skies 
and  puny  affectation  of  April  in  December.  But  winter  strut 
ted  in,  like  a  peremptory  bandit  on  the  stage,  as  one  who  knew 
his  power  and  wasn't  to  be  trifled  with,  and  took  possession 
of  sky  and  field  and  river  in  good  earnest,  flinging  his  snowy 
cloak  upon  the  ground  as  a  challenge  to  all-comers,  deter 
mined  that  it  should  lie  there  until  he  chose  to  take  it  up." 

While  a  law-student  and  subsequently,  young  Kennedy  was 
a  happy  and  popular  sharer  in  the  social  privileges  of  his  na- 


ADMITTED    TO    THE    JiAR.  105 

tive  city.  His  high  spirits,  genial  address,  and  pleasant  humor 
made  him  a  great  favorite  with  the  young  of  both  sexes.  His 
tastes  and  habits  were  remarkably  pure.  One  of  his  com 
rades,  during  the  excitement  of  the  expected  invasion,  when  free 
dom  from  customary  routine  and  long  intervals  of  leisure  in  the 
duties  of  the  camp,  allured  some  of  the  young  volunteers  into 
excesses,  bears  testimony  to  this  exceptional  conduct  of  young 
Kennedy,  who,  without  the  least  asceticism  of  bearing  or  re 
proach,  but  with  a  kindly,  yet  resolute  manner,  invariably  de 
clined  joining  his  companions  in  the  dissipation  to  which  they 
were  more  or  less  addicted.  His  keen  appreciation  of  the  no 
bler  pleasures  of  the  mind  and  the  more  delicate  enjoyment 
he  derived  from  the  society  of  the  fair  and  the  gifted,  tended 
to  confirm  the  high  morale  which  sprung  from  natural  charac 
ter  and  careful  education.  He  was  the  life  of  the  parties  of 
that  day  and  a  welcome  guest  on  all  occasions  of  social  festiv- 
ty  ;  but  it  was  in  the  circles  of  family  life  and  the  compan 
ionship  of  intimate  friends,  that  he  appeared  to  the  greatest 
advantage  and  found  his  true  satisfaction ;  favorite  as  he  and 
his  comrades  were  among  men  and  women  of  their  own  age, 
the  elders  in  society  and  at  the  bar,  none  the  less  adopted 
them  into  their  good  graces.  There  were  famous  amphy- 
trions  in  those  days,  men  of  wealth,  position  and  influence ; 
dignified  in  manner,  hospitable  by  habit,  generous  but  exclu 
sive.  The  old  Baltimore  Library  Company  included  many  of 
these  magnates,  who  held  monthly  dinners  which  acquired 
a  high  reputation  for  wine  and  wit.  It  was  quite  a  startling 
soci'al  event  when  these  "grave  and  reverend,"  but  none  the  less 
jovial  "signers"  elected  Kennedy  and  two  or  three  of  his 
friends  members  of  this  veteran  corps ;  "  we  want  an  infusion 
of  young  blood,"  said  the  prime  mover  in  this  innovation. 
On  the  first  occasion  of  a  re-union,  after  the  new  members 
had  been  installed,  they  acquitted  themselves  so  well — one  by 
felicitous  classical  quotations,  one  by  clever  humorous  sallies 
and  another  by  a  fresh  contribution  of  witty  stories,  that  the 
old  gentlemen  voted,  by  acclamation,  to  hold  the  dinner  semi- 
5* 


106  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

monthly,  and  afterwards  it  became  a  weekly  institution,  so 
speedily  had  the  vivacious  and  accomplished  youths  rejuvena 
ted  the  elders  and  given  new  life  and  grace  to  their  banquet. 

Among  the  eminent  lawyers  Mr.  Pinkney  took  a  great 
interest  in  young  Kennedy,  who  became  engaged  to  his  daugh 
ter  Charlotte  ;  the  engagement  lasted  but  a  few  months  ;  and 
the  lady  soon  after  married  a  gentleman  of  New  York.  Her 
father  continued,  to  the  last,  to  feel  and  manifest  a  warm  re 
gard  for  Mr.  Kennedy.  To  this  period  the  following  letter 
from  his  brother  refers  : 

JEFFERSON  Co.,  VIRGINIA,          > 
CLAYTON,  March  llth,  1821.  \ 

MY  DEAR  JOHN  : — The  distressing  solemnity  of  my  Lord 
Coke's  most  grave  Commentary,  whereat  I  have  been  disport 
ing  myself  for  awhile,  and  the  ineffable  dulness  of  two  vol 
umes  of  the  Revised  Code,  must  be  my  excuse  for  not  writing 
to  you  more  frequently.  I  finished  Coke  some  time  ago  and 
am  now  laboring  through  him  a  second  time — to  what  purpose 
I  cannot  tell,  unless  it  be  that  my  good  uncle  Phil,  means  to 
give  me  a  surfeit  at  once,  and  thereby  force  me  to  abjure  the  law. 

We  were  sorry  to  hear  the  account  of  your  disagreement 
with  Miss  Pinkney,  but  only  regretted  it  as  supposing  it  dis 
turbed  your  quiet.  You  are  not  one,  however,  who  will  surfer 
such  things  to  make  you  very  miserable — especially  as  you  are 
already  so  intent  upon  the  gratification  of  your  own  honorable 
and,  I  may  say,  successful  ambition,  and  besides, 

"  There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far, 
Who  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 

And  now,  my  dear  Hero,  or  Hector,  that  you  can  rest  from  the 
struggle  of  debate ;  now  that  you  are  quietly  seated  in  your  office 
covered  with  your  laurels,  or  your  bays,  or  your  palms,  or  even 
with  your  old  surtout — with  the  reputation,  at  least  in  Virginia 
here,  of  being  the  most  distinguished  young  man  in  Maryland, 
and  the  first  man,  young  or  old,  in  the  Assembly ;  now  I  say, 


ADMITTED    TO    THE    BAR.  107 

will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  let  me  know,  in  a  long  epistle, 
what  is  going  on  in  Baltimore.  ?       Yours,  affectionately, 

ANDREW  KENNEDY/ 

He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  under  the  auspices  of  General 
Winder,  and  commenced  practice  in  1816.  He  was  counsel  for 
some  of  the  City  Banks ;  was  associated  awhile  with  Charles 
F.  Mayer,  and  conducted  some  important  cases  before  the  Su 
preme  Court ;  he  became  trustee  for  several  estates,  and 
worked  on  steadily  in  his  profession,  then  his  sole  dependence. 
Yet  the  law  was  distasteful  to  him  from  the  first — his  tastes  ' 
were  all  for  literature  and  politics.  "  Is  not  the  institution  of 
lawyers— men  who  live  by  attending  to  suits — a  great  evil  ?" 
he  writes.  "  How  completely  and  helplessly  is  society  en 
cased  and  bound  up  in  this  web  of  law.  Why  should  a  man 
to  get  his  rights,  be  obliged  to  pay  so  highly  for  it,  and  to  be 
subject  to  such  terrors  in  the  getting  of  them? "  Yet  few  writ 
ers  have  shown  such  an  appreciation  of  lawyers  as  a  class  ;  in 
his  "Life  of  Wirt "  and  in  "Swallow  Barn,"  Mr.  Kennedy 
portrays  the  peculiar  intellectual  charm  of  a  judicial  mind  and 
the  exceptional  culture  which,  in  his  youth,  distinguished  the 
profession.  The  bar  of  Baltimore  was  then  renowned  for  its 
able,  eloquent  and  learned  lawyers ;  the  names  of  Luther 
Martin  and  William  Pinkney,  of  Generals  Harper  and  Winder, 
and  occasionally  of  Wirt,  and  with  many  others,  are  among  the 
most  eminent  in  American  jurisprudence. 

The  legal  profession  in  our  country,  at  the  time  he 
entered  it,  represented  a  kind  and  degree  of  intellectual  ac 
tivity  and  influence,  no  longer  so  exclusively  its  own,  as 
when  reading  men  were  less  common.  The  social  prestige 
and  interest  of  the  profession  was  thus  early  impressed  upon 
his  mind  ;  and  his  own  qualities  made  him  the  congenial  asso 
ciate  of  the  eminent  members  of  the  bar.  Cordially  adopted 
as  a  young  friend  by  the  famous  veterans  of  his  youth,  and  a 
witness  of  many  of  their  forensic  triumphs,  he  soon  learned 
to  place  a  high  estimate  on  the  possible  success  and  the  intel- 


108  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.   KENNEDY. 

lectual  eminence  of  the  legal  fraternity.  But  this  did  not 
mitigate  his  own  personal  distaste  for  the  vocation ;  like  so 
many  others  in  whom  the  literary  instinct  is  predominant,  he 
turned  from  the  dry  details  of  law  to  the  humanizing  generali 
ties  of  literature,  with  unabated  relish  ;  he  wrote,  and  read  his 
tory,  poetry  and  fiction,  as  soon  as  he  had  disposed  of  a  case 
or  got  through  a  document.  And  yet,  according  to  one  of 
his  successful  cotemporaries  at  the  bar,  Mr.  Kennedy  possess 
ed  some  special  qualifications  therefor.  He  had,  says  this, 
gentleman,  a  remarkable  aptitude  for  the  collection  and  anal 
ysis  of  facts  and  the  facile  exposition  of  a  question  ;  he  could 
draw  up  a  masterly  judicial  statement,  arrange  and,  as  it  were 
clarify  and  emphasize  the  details  of  a  subject,  with  remarkable 
celerity  and  success.  This  qualification,  we  know  in  subse 
quent  life,  proved  most  auspicious  to  his  usefulness  in  public 
duty,  as  is  apparent  in  his  Report  on  Commerce,  as  Secretary 
of  the  Navy",  Commisioner  at  the  Paris  Exposition — and  on 
many  other  occasions,  when  the  rapid  elucidation  or  impres 
sive  programme  of  a  great  subject  was  required.  Despite  his 
want  of  strong  personal  interest  in  law,  he  none  the  less  ap 
plied  himself  to  its  duties  ;  he  was  very  rarely  a  hard  student, 
but  always  observant,  a  reader,  and  gracefully  expressive  ;  he 
was  a  natural  speaker  and  writer. 

Soon  after  commencing  practice  Mr.  Kennedy,  with  his  in 
timate  friends  Pennington,  Dulany  and  Cruse,  set  up  a  bache 
lor's  establishment  in  St.  Paul's  Street.  The  one  survivor 
of  the  attached  and  happy  quartette,  has  given  me  a  vivid 
idea  of  the  life  they  led  after  they  began  housekeeping.  He 
describes  his  friends  as  about  equally  fond  of  literature 
and  ladies  ;  Cruse  was  eminently  classical  in  his  taste  and 
culture,  brilliant  in  his  talk,  affectionate  in  his  disposition  ; 
Kennedy  manifested  more  interest  in  public  life,  urbane  and 
genial  to  a  fault  and  fond  of  a  joke.  In  the  evening,  when 
not  engaged  for  a  party  or  a  play,  and  often  before  or  after 
such  pastimes,  the  young  men  would  pursue  their  respective 
and  characteristic  occupations  in  the  drawing-room  together  ; 


100 

while  Pennington  was  at  work  upon  a  chancery  bill,  Kennedy 
and  Cruse  would  be  preparing  a  forthcoming  number  of  "  The 
Red  Book;  '-and  when  either  of  them  succeeded  in  "making 
a  hit,"  satirical  or  elegant,  as  it  might  be,  they  remorselessly 
interrupted  their  more  grave  companion  and  bade  him  criticise 
their  work  or  share  the  joke,  for,  writes  a  member  of  the  Mon 
day  Club,"  Mr.  Pennington  was  the  best  narrator  of  anecdote 
and  delineator  of  character  among  his  associates."  The  history 
of  this  primitive  literary  enterprise  is  characteristic  of  the 
writers  and  the  time.  Both  Kennedy  and  Cruse  had,  from 
time  to  time,  contributed  to  the  journals  of  the  day ;  the  for 
mer,  for  awhile,  was  editor  of  the  Baltimore  American; 
and  they  constantly  exchanged  criticisms  and  formed  plans. 
The  idea  of  a  local  anonymous  satire,  to  appear  occasionally 
and  astonish  and  mystify  the  town,  was  singularly  fascinating 
to  the  young  aspirants  for  literary  influence  ;  and  they  issued 
the  first  number  of  "  The  Red  Book"— a  small  pamphlet,  in 
verse  and  prose,  very  like,  in  form  and  purpose,  the  "Sal 
magundi"  of  Irving  and  Paulding.  "  This  little  work  "  says 
the  preface,  "  comes  before  the  public  eye,  the  careless  offspring 
of  chance,  unsupported  by  patronage  and  unadorned  by  the 
tinsel  of  fame  or  fashion.  It  possesses  this  advantage,  that  let 
the  world  slight  it  as  it  may,  it  will  always  be  read.  It  is  in 
vain  to  seek  its  origin,  for  no  man  shall  say  whence  it  came. 
The  authors  are  not  to  be  known  though  they  may  mingle  freely 
with  their  fellows."  Curiosity  was  piqued  on  the  appearance 
of  the  initial  number  ;  and  the  little  serial  soon  became  famous 
and  was  in  such  demand  that  the  hand-presses,  then  in  use, 
could  not  turn  off  an  adequate  supply  of  copies  in  season  to 
meet  the  requisition.  The  secret  of  the  authorship  was  well 
kept.  Although  a  few  shrewdly  suspected  that  "  The  Red  Book" 
emanated  from  the  genial  bacheloric  domicile  of  the  friends, 
who  had  such  excellent  opportunities  to  note  the  follies  of 
the  day  and  describe  the  eccentric  or  pretentious  people 
around  them  ;  yet  all  guessing  as  to  the  origin  of  special  papers 
was  a  failure,  and  the  young  authors  enjoyed  their  incognito 


110  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

as  well  as  the  noise  their  lucubrations  made  in  the  world, 
Kennedy  and  Cruse  were  so  well  suited  to  each  other,  that 
their  playful  intercourse  was  a  delight  not  only  to  themselves, 
but  to  all  their  friends.  Many  are  the  amusing  reminiscences 
of  the  angry  criticisms  they  used  to  hear  upon* the  personalities 
of  "  The  Red  Book  ;"  at  the  "  cotton-cambric  parties"  it  was 
discussed  and  the  authors  joined  in  the  indignation  expressed  ; 
so  that  both  its  preparation  and  social  ordeal  became  a  source 
of  jollity  to  the  ingenious  contrivers  of  this  literary  pastime. 

"  The  Red  Book"  appeared  at  intervals  for  two  years  ;  and 
the  numbers  bound  make  two  duodecimo  volumes  in  old-fash 
ioned  type  ;  they  are  now  extremely  rare.  A  glance  at  their 
pages  shows  the  old  Queen  Anne  essay  style  and  scope,  now  al 
legorical  and  now  a  parody,  here  an  imitation  of  obsolete  Eng 
lish  and  there  a  reproduction  of  some  classic  type.  The  titles  of 
the  papers  suggest  their  aim  and  style  ;  such  as  "The  History 
of  Mr.  Bronze  ;"  "  An  old  Prophecie  ;"  "  Sidrophel  to  the 
Ladies ;"  "  From  the  Tusculum  ;"  "  Market  Street  Musings"  and 
"  Horace  in  Baltimore,"  the  last  from  a  series  of  local  satires 
written  by  Cruse,  who  knew  the  odes  of  Horace  by  heart,  and 
having  decided  upon  the  one  to  travestie,  would  reel  off  an 
English  imitation,  with  some  of  his  fellow-citizens  as  satirical 
subjects  thereof,  with  remarkable  spirit  and  facility.  The 
significance,  and  therefore  much  of  the  interest  of  their  lo 
cal  allusions,  have  passed  away  with  the  occasion,  or  persons 
that  inspired  them  ;  while  the  style  of  periodical  writing  has 
so  changed  that  specimens  of  this  early  date  have  little  attrac 
tion  for  readers  of  the  present  day.  Regarded  as  an  isolated 
venture  not  unsuccessful  in  its  way,  as  an  indication  of  taste 
and  wit,  the  little  volume  is  agreeably  associated  with  the 
memory  of  its  authors.  This  literary  experiment  was  a  source 
of  much  amusement,  and  some  literary  practice  to  them ; 
and  they  sent  copies  of  "  The  Red  Book  "  to.  the  few  litera- 
tcurs  the  country  then  boasted,  to  elicit  criticism  as  to  the 
merits  and  promise  of  their  work.  Two  replies  to  these  applica 
tions  are  here  inserted,  as  curious  illustrations  of  the  tentative 


"TIIK  KKD  HOOK." 

tate  of  literature  among  us  half  a  century  ago,  and  the  formal 
•ncouragement  vouchsafed  by  scholars  to  the  few  young  aspir- 
.nts  to  the  honors  of  authorship  : 

CAMBRIDGE  UNIVERSITY,  June  20, 1820. 

GENTLEMEN: — There  is  so  much  talent  displayed  in  "The 
led  Book,"  that  I  should  gladly  see  you  strike  boldly  at  greater 
.buses ;  and,  though  it  might  still  be  done  in  a  pleasant  way, 
.im  at  elevating  the  turn  of  public  feeling,  on  many  important 
joints  of  opinion  and  morals.  Your  town  is  large  enough  to 
dmjt  it — ours  is  not  ;  for  it  is  scarce  possible  with  a  limited 
>opulation  like  that  of  Boston,  to  say  any  thing  which  will  not 
>ring  you  into  personal  collision  with  your  acquaintances. 
Your  obedient,  humble  servant, 

EDWARD  EVERETT. 

To  the  Authors  of  "  THE  RED  BOOK." 

CAMBRIDGE,  July  24,  1820. 

GENTLEMEN  : — By  virtue  of  the  authority  which  you  have 
rommited  to  me,  I  pronounce  a  favorable  judgment  upon  "  The 
cled  Book."  I  have,  indeed,  to  object  to  some  levities  which 
•ather  trespass  upon  propriety,  and  especially  to  an  occasional 
vant  of  reverence  in  alluding  to  Scripture.  But  I  am  satisfied 
Tom  this  publication  that  the  gentlemen  engaged  in  it  are  ca- 
)able  of  doing  something  much  better  ;  and  it  is  because  I 
im  pleased  with  it,  and  not  because  I  condemn  it,  that  I  look 
forward  to  their  "  engaging  in  something"  much  "  more  credit 
able."  If  I  may  be  allowed  to  select  any  part,  I  should  say 
that  I  was  particularly  pleased  with  the  imitations  of  Horace. 
"  Horace  in  Baltimore  "  has,  to  say  the  least,  quite  as  much  wit 
and  spirit  as  "  Horace  in  London."  However,  I  mean  to  make 
no  invidious  distinctions.  The  prose  is  very  worthy  to  accom 
pany  the  poetry. 

For  the  honor  of  Greek  and  Baltimore,  I  beg  you  no  long 
er  to  print  a  instead  of  9  final,  nor  use  double  y  as  a  diph 
thong.  I  am,  gentlemen,  with  great  regard, 

Yours,        ANDREWS  NORTON. 

To  tlie  Authors  of  "  THE  RED  BOOK." 

Of  this  youthful  performance,  Mr.  Kennedy  thought  little, 
except  as  it  was  the  occasion  of  much  amusing  experience  and 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

literary  sympathy  :  alluding  to  it  many  years  after,  he  says— 
"In  1818  Peter  Hoffman  Cruse  and  myself  published  in  Bal 
timore,  a  little  work,  in  two  volumes,  called  "  The  Red  Book." 
It  appeared  in  numbers,  at  intervals  of  about  a  fortnight,  and 
was  of  a  playful,  satirical  character,  no  farther  worthy  of  note 
than   for   its    containing  some  excellent  poetical    articles  by 
Cruse."     The  attachment  between  these  young  men  was  very 
strong,  and  based  on  a  similarity  of  taste  and  the  highest  mu 
tual  confidence.     When  Mr.  Kennedy  and  his  friend  Penning- 
ton  were  married,  leaving  their  old  bachelor  companion  alone, 
the  former  said  to  his  brother  Benedict,  "we  must  take  care 
of  Cruse  ;"  and  he  became  at  once  an  habitue  of  their  homes 
"  and  like  one  of  the  family."     During  the  melancholy  summer 
and  autumn  of  1832,  when  the  cholera  prevailed  so  fatally  in 
Baltimore,  Mr.  Kennedy  was  paying  his  accustomed  rounds 
of  family  and  friendly  visits  in  Virginia;  Pennington  and  Cruse 
remained  in  the  city  and  daily  met;  they  never  failed  to  inquire 
each  other's  welfare  with  the  peculiar  solicitude  incident  to 
the  constant  ravages  of  the  epidemic ;  one   day  on  leaving 
their  respective   law  offices,   which  were    adjacent,  they  ac 
knowledged  to  each  other  the  symptoms  of  illness  ;  on  parting, 
Cruse  said  feelingly  to  his  friend — "  I  hope  we  shall  see  each 
other  again  ;"  soon  after  both  were   seized  with  the  cholera  ; 
by  the  timely  and  devoted  care  of  his  friend  Dr.  Buckler,  Mr. 
Pennington  overcame  the  attack ;  but  remedial  means   were 
too  late  to  arrest  the  disease  in  the  other  case ;  and  the  two 
friends  never  met  again.     It  is  a  remarkable  coincidence  that, 
forty  years  after,  when  in  the  summer  of  1870,  Mr.  Penning 
ton  took  leave  of  his  old  companion  Kennedy,  at  the  latter's 
threshold,  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  for  the  north,  the  identi 
cal  words  fell  from  his  lips  which  had  proved  the  last  of  the 
friend  of  their  youth.     Feeling  how  precarious  was  the  tenure 
of  his  life,  Mr.  Kennedy  instead  of  his  wonted  jovial  parting, 
said :  "  I  hope  we  shall  see  each  other  again  ;"  the  sadly  re 
membered  phrase  struck  upon  the  ear  of  his  life-long  friend, 
with  an  ominous  thrill,  and  he  exclaimed,  "  O  John  !  don't  say 


PUBLIC    LIFE.  113 

that !"  The  words  were  prophetic  ;  they  had  parted  on  earth 
forever.  Both  cherished  the  memory  of  Cruse  as  did  his 
other  surviving  friends.  After  the  lapse  of  many  years,  in 
one  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  journals,  in  a  programme  of  literary 
projects,  he  says  :  "  I  meditate  a  tribute  to  my  friend  Cruse, 
a  little  volume  of  his  Life  and  Writings."  This  design,  al 
though  the  materials  were  partly  collected,  was  never  fulfilled. 
With  the  cessation  of  "  The  Red  Book,"  Mr.  Kennedy  for 
some  time,  gave  more  attention  to  public  life  than  to  litera 
ture,  although  he  never  wholly  neglected  the  latter.  A  taste 
rather  than  an  ambition  for  political  activity,  had  early  mani 
fested  itself.  He  took  an  instinctive  interest  in  questions 
of  policy,  and  enjoyed  the  discussion  of  subjects  connected 
with  the  welfare  of  the  nation  and  the  progress  and  prosperity 
of  the  community  in  which  he  lived.  Frequently  called 
upon  by  his  fellow-citizens  to  address  public  meetings,  he 
gradually  became  the  recognized  advocate  of  certain  prin 
ciples  and  the  graceful  expositor  of  popular  sentiment.  He 
alludes,  in  his  recollections  of  his  early  life,  to  the  practice  he 
enjoyed  as  a  speaker  in  the  Debating  Club  and  in  drafting  by 
laws,  reports  and  constitutions,  as  having  been  an  unconscious 
but  none  the  less  desirable  preparation  for  official  duties.  It 
was,  therefore,  with  great  ease  that  he,  as  occasion  prompted, 
became  the  orator  of  a  special  occasion  or  the  public  advocate 
of  an  important  measure,  whether  economical,  educational  or 
legislative.  His  oldest  surviving  friends  recall  his  appearance 
in  youth,  when  addressing  the  crowd  from  the  gallery  of  the 
old  Court-House.  His  style  of  speaking  was,  for  the  most 
part,  unstudied  ;  he  gained  and  kept  attention  by  lucid  argu 
ment,  tempered  by  pleasantry,  frequent  sallies  of  humor,  em 
phatic  force  of  statement,  good-natured  raillery  and  occasional 
outbreaks  of  rhetoric.  There  was  a  magnetic  charm  about 
his  manner,  and  often  a  finished  cadence  or  quiet  humor  in 
his  tone,  which,  combined  with  the  good  sense  upon  which  his 
appeal  or  protest  was  based,  secured  him  respectful  attention 
and  encouraging  sympathy.  In  1820  he  was  elected  to  the 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

Legislature  of  Maryland  as  a  delegate  from  Baltimore,  in 
which  position  he  served  for  three  successive  years,  having 
been  re-elected  in  1821-22. 

MARTINSBURG,  Oct.  14th,  1820. 

MY  DEAR  JOHN  : — After  receiving  my  congratulations 
upon  the  success  of  your  campaign,  I  should  like  to  hear  some 
of  the  particulars  of  your  election.  There  is  a  prodigious 
story  brought  here  by  Tom  Smith,  of  the  following  tenor,  viz. : 
that  on  your  first  rising  to  address  your  fellow-citizens,  they 
loudly  cried,  "  Down  with  him— down,  down  !"  upon  which 
you  modestly  retreated  for  some  minutes,  rallied  to  the  charge, 
and  finally  succeeded  in  eliciting  loud  and  long  huzzas  from 
capricious  multitudes,  etc.,  etc.  Let  us  hear  all  about  these 
matters.  Affectionately  yours, 

ANDREW  KENNEDY. 

In  his  legislative  career  he  at  once  became  prominent  as 
an  advocate  of  Internal  Improvements  and  Reform ;  in  some 
cases,  where  his  views  were  not  in  advance  of  the  time,  win 
ning  thereby  the  applause  of  his  constituents,  and  in  other 
instances,  when  anticipating  the  progress  of  public  opinion, 
he  incurred  critical  opposition.  A  friend  of  his  youth  informs 
me  that  on  his  return  to  Baltimore  from  the  State  Capital, 
after  successfully  promoting  one  of  these  popular  reforms,  the 
whole  audience  in  the  theatre  rose  on  his  entrance  with 
cheers;  on  the  other  hand,  his  persistence  in  denouncing  the 
existent  laws  of  imprisonment  for  debt,  were  severely  con 
demned  by  the  press  and  in  the  legislature.  It  is  amusing, 
and  at  the  same  time  instructive,  to  look  back  upon  the 
special  causes  and  methods  of  opposition  in  the  career  of  a 
consistent  and  conscientious  statesman,  and  regard  them  in 
the  light  of  subsequent  progress  and  policy.  Thus  his  views 
on  imprisonment  for  debt  have  long  ago  become  the  public 
sentiment  of  all  civilized  countries  ;  and  while  he  was  isolated 
and  steadfast  in  his  old  age,  in  frustrating,  to  the  best  of  his 


PARTY    MANOEUVRES.  115 

ability,  the  base  mutiny  against  the  republic  in  favor  of  slavery, 
he  must  often  have  remembered  with  wonder,  that  upon  his 
entrance  on  political  life,  forty  years  before,  being  then,  as  ever, 
an  opponent  of  the  institution,  one  of  the  first  slanders  hurled 
against  him  by  the  opposite  party  in  the  caucus,  was  an 
accusation  of  pro-slavery  opinions ;  for,  then  and  there,  this 
blot  on  the  national  escutcheon  was  regarded  as  an  economical 
blunder  as  well  as  a  moral  stain,  by  a  large  and  influential 
class.  A  more  amusing  instance  of  partisan  warfare  is  re 
membered  by  one  of  his  constituents ;  finding  it  impossible 
to  assail  successfully  the  character  or  depreciate  the  services 
of  the  young  member  from  Baltimore,  a  zealous  votary  of  the 
opposite  party  spent  days  in  searching  files  of  newspapers  to 
discover  a  phrase  of  which  the  popular  candidate  was  the 
author,  in  which,  apropos  to  some  argument,  he  had  said  of 
the  citizens  of  Baltimore,  that  they  "were  not  a  reading 
people." 

While  such  now  long-forgotten  party  manoeuvres  were  en 
acting,  Mr.  Kennedy  had  risen  not  only  in  the  estimation  of 
his  townsmen  and  associates  at  Annapolis,  as  a  young  man  of  un 
common  ability,  honor  and  adaptation  to  public  life,  but  many 
of  his  distinguished  fellow-citizens  in  the  national  councils  be 
gan  to  take  note  of  his  promise  and  claims.  At  that  period 
journeys  to  Washington  from  Baltimore  were  only  practicable 
to  equestrians  or  in  stage-coaches  ;  in  spring  and  winter  the 
roads  were  heavy  and  sometimes  impassable.  The  prominent 
Maryland  lawyers  went  there  to  attend  the  Supreme  Court,  and 
those  of  Virginia  and  other  States  came,  like  Wirt,  to  Baltimore 
to  plead  ;  these  visits  being  attended  with  delays  and  fatigue,  in 
duced  longer  sojourns  and  more  intimate  social  intercourse 
than  either  legal  or  legislative  visitors  of  our  day  have  time 
or  inclination  to  indulge.  Accordingly,  a  young  and  rising  man, 
either  at  the  bar,  in  society  or  public  life,  became  sooner  known 
— more  distinctly  appreciated — than  is  possible  now,  when 
competitors  are  so  numerous  and  opportunities  so  eagerly  and 
promiscuously  sought.  Many  leading  men  thus  came  to  feel 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

an  interest  in  Mr.  Kennedy  from  what  they  heard  of  his  talents 
and  enjoyed  of  his  society  ;  and  it  occasioned  no  surprise  that 
he  received  from  Mr.  Monroe,  in  1824,  the  appointment  of 
Secretary  of  Legation  to  Chili.  Mr.  Wirt,  then  a  member 
of  the  cabinet,  seems  to  have  interested  himself  warmly  in 
the  project.  For  some  time  Mr.  Kennedy  hesitated  as  to  his 
final  acceptance ;  but  at  last  resigned  the  office,  in  regard  to 
which  the  Attorney-General  thus  writes : 

BALTIMORE,  April  16,  1822. 

DEAR  SIR  : — It  is  understood  that  ministers  are  to  be  ap 
pointed  to  the  new  republic  in  South  America,  who  are  to  be 
full  ministers,  and  will,  consequently,  require  Secretaries  of  Le 
gation,  and  with  a  view  to  one  of  the  latter  appointments  I  have 
been  Requested  to  bring  to  your  view  Mr.  John  P.  Kennedy, 
of  this  place,  one  of  my  younger  professional  brethren,  for 
whom  I  entertain  great  respect  and  esteem,  as  do  the  people 
of  this  city,  whose  delegate  to  the  State  Legislature  he  has  been 
fcr  some  time.  Mr.  Kennedy  is  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman- 
intelligent,  liberal  and  enlightened,  and  would,  I  think,  not  only 
fill,  but  grace  the  appointment,  and  as  such,  I  take  the  liberty 
to  recommend  him  to  your  attention,  happy  to  have  it  in  my 
power  to  propose  what  I  am  sure  will  benefit  my  country,  while 
it  will  gratify  my  own  feelings, 

I  remain,  dear  sir,  most  respectfully, 
Your  obd't.  servant, 

WILLIAM  WIRT. 
1  o  the  President  of  the  United  States. 

WASHINGTON,  January  20,  1823. 

What  if  I  didn't,  my  dear  sir ;  is  it  not  a  feather  in  your 
cap  to  have  it  in  your  power  to  go  or  not  ?  Besides,  how  did  I 
know  but  you  might  change  your  mind  again,  and  wish  for  a 
sight  of  the  Andes,  and  sigh  to  hear  Cotopaxi  roar  and  assault 
the  skies.  Then  again  the  diamond  mines  of  Peru  and  Gol- 
conda  and,  en  passant,  the  city  of  the  unfortunate  Montezuma, 
and  the  noble  Guatimozin's  bed  of  roses, — to  say  nothing  of  the 
shows  and  natural  wonders  to  which  Humboldt  has  given  in 
terest,  and  whose  narrative,  I  take  it,  would  be  the  companion 
of  your  journey, — then  that  human  volcano  now  in  a  state  of 
political  eruption,  all  his  passions  in  a  magnificent  blaze,  red- 


APPOINTED   MINISTER   TO    CHILI.  117 

dening  the  whole  firmament  with  their  fires  and  overwhelming 
towns  and  villages  with  their  lava.  How  did  I  know  but 
that  on  reflection  you  might  regret  your  having  missed  a  view  of 
all  these  spectacles,  and  have  thanked  me  very  little  for  the 
sage  counsel  that  might  have  contributed  to  the  disappoint 
ment  ?  Besides,  if  you  remain  firm  to  your  purpose  of  declining 
it,  you  can  resign,  and  without  censure,  for  I  have  seen  the 
President  and  taken  all  the  blame  on  myself. 

I  am  still  old-fashioned  and  sage  enough  to  think  that  it 
would  be  better  for  you  both  in  a  pecuniary  and  political  view 
to  "  stick  to  the  ship,"  but  being  no  adept  myself  at  either 
game,  you  had  better  consider  this  matter  once  more  and  con 
sult  more  experienced  advisers  than  myself.  Perhaps  tha  ex 
pedition  may  benefit  you  in  both  respects  by  throwing  new 
brilliancy  and  eclat  on  your  character,  and  thus  attracting  still 
more  attention  to  you  on  your  return.  However,  consider  and 
decide  as  you  please,  and  be  assured  that  whether  you  ap 
prove  my  omission  or  not,  it  was  well  intended. 

After  dinner  : — I  wonder,  at  last,  if  it  be  not  true  that  there 
is  some  subtle  intercourse  between  spirit  and  spirit,  though  ab 
sent  from  each  other,  which  gives  each  the  cognizance  of  what 
is  passing  with  the  other.  I  wrote  the  preceding  before  din 
ner,  in  serious  apology  for  having  taken  the  liberty  to  with 
hold  from  the  President  the  subject  of  your  former  letter. 
I  have  been  troubled  in  spirit  for  not  having  done  it  soon 
er,  but  I  wished  the  nomination  to  be  confirmed  before  I 
apprised  you  of  the  trick  I  had  played  you.  But  the  President 
told  me  when  I  made  my  confession  to  him,  that  the  idea  that 
you  would  not  accept,  had  got  afloat  from  some  other  quarter, 
but  that  it  would  be  time  enough  for  you  to  resign  when  the 
nomination  should  be  confirmed, — "  but  sir,  he  will  accept,  " — 
these  were  his  words,  and  far  be  it  from  me  to  call  his  spirit  of 
prophecy  into  question.  While  at  dinner,  I  received  your  let 
ter  ^of  the  twenty-fourth,  and  now  I  have  to  consider  this 
subject  again,  you  call  upon  me  to  do  it  frankly : — this  is  no 
easy  task  when  I  see  the  determined  current  of  your  own  in 
clination.  I  perceive,  too,  it  is  not  a  temporary  frolic  that  you 
are  bent  on,  but  a  settled  course  of  life,  that  is  to  exchange  the 
lawyer  for  the  diplomatist.  "  If  you  thought  this  appointment 
would  lead  to  speedy  preferment,  as  you  have  some  hope  it 
will,  you  would  not  scruple  to  accept,  because  you  know  you 
are  better  qualified  for  that  kind  of  life  than  any  other." 
The  ground  of  this  hope  and  the  accuracy  of  this  conscious 
ness  are  very  important  points  in  deciding  on  your  final 


118 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    p.  KENNEDY. 


course.  I  am  not,  therefore,  in  possession  of  the  facts  which 
l  nx  the  destiny  of  your  ultimate  pursuits,  but  I  believe 
you  must  be  indulged  in  taking  this  frolic  for  a  year  or  so 
Ihis  will  give  us  time  to  consider,—  for  as  to  the  final  iudff- 
ment,  curia  advtsare  vult.  At  your  time  of  life  an  absence  of 
a  year  or  two  can  do  no  material  injury  ;  the  disappointment, 
at  all  events,  might  do  you  more  harm  than  such  an  absence 
At  your  time  of  life  /would  certainly  go,  which,  however  only 
proves  my  own  Arab  propensity,  and  by  no  means,  that  the 
step  would  be  right.  Take  the  Law  of  Nations  and  Blackstone 
with  you,  and  do  not  forget  your  Bible.  You  will  be  as  certainly 
confirmed  as  the  mission  to  Chili  will.  The  appointments 
will  both  go  together,  /.  e.,  share  the  same  fate. 

I  am  as  you  conjecture,  extremely  busy.  I  shall  see  you 
I  take  it  for  granted,  before  your  departure  •  meantime,  health 
and  joy!  Yours,  truly, 


JOHN  P.  KENNEDY,  ESQ.  ^M'  WlRT* 

"  I  have  heard  him  describe,"  says  Mr.  Winthrop,  "  most  hu 
morously  his  first  interview  with  the  late  John  Quincy  Adams, 
the  Secretary  of  State,  when  he  called  at  the  State  Department 
for  his  instructions,  preparatory  to  embarking  for  his  post." 
-"Instructions!"  said  Mr.  Adams,  "the  only  instructions  I 
have  to  give  you  at  present  are  these  ;  and  reaching  up,  with 
the  aid  of  a  chair,  to  a  high  shelf  or  pigeon  hole,  he  handed  him 
a  carefully  prepared  description  and  drawing  of  the  uniform 
which  our  legations  abroad  were  required  to  wear,—  not  yet  dis 
carded  as  inconsistent  with  Republican  principles,  and  told 
him  to  provide  himself  accordingly.  Mr.  Kennedy's  youthful 
aspirations  for  diplomacy  were  not  stimulated  or  altogether 
satisfied,  by  this  view  of  what  was  expected  of  him  ;  and, 
before  it  was  too  late,  he  obtained  leave  to  resign  the  appoint 
ment  j"  which  he  did  in  the  following  terms  : 

BALTIMORE,  May  18,  1823. 

DEAR  SIR  :  —  When  I  had  the  honor  to  see  you  on  my  last 
visit  ^to  Washington,  I  promised  myself  the  pleasure  of  pro 
ceeding,  as  soon  as  the  government  might  require  it,  with  the 
mission  to  Chili,  and  hoped  by  the  fidelity  with  which  I  should 


DEATH    OF    HIS    WIFE.  119 

discharge  the  trust  committed  to  my  keeping,  to  have  made  some 
requital  for  the  favor  you  had  shown  me.  Circumstances  have 
since  occurred  which  compel  me  to  resign  the  appointment,  and 
force  me  to  throw  myself  upon  your  indulgence  to  be  released 
from  duties  which,  in  any  other  situation,  I  would  have  under 
taken  with  the  utmost  alacrity. 

My  very  good  friend  Mr.  Wirt  has  engaged  to  be  answer 
able  for  this  defection,  and  will  take  occasion  in  some  personal 
interview  to  make  you  acquainted  with  my  justification.  Believe 
me.  sir,  none  but  the  most  cogent  reasons  could  have  induced 
me  to  decline  the  very  flattering  notice  you  have  taken  of  me,  or 
run  the  risk  of  forfeiting  your  confidence  by  what  might  be  deem 
ed  a  capricious  refusal  of  it.  As  some  months  must  still  elapse 
before  the  mission  will  leave  the  country,  I  hope  I  am  not  too 
late  in  announcing  my  resignation.  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  my 
dear  sir,  with  the  most  profound  respect, 

Yours,  etc.,  JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

To  His  Exc'y  JAMES  MONROE,  Prest.  of  U.  S. 

Probably,  besides  his  natural  reluctance  to  give  up  a  grow 
ing  practice,  Mr.  Kennedy  was  influenced  in  his  decision  by 
the  resolution  he  had  formed  to  settle  in  life  by  entering  into 
a  new  and  tender  relation.  In  January,  1824,  he  married  a 
daughter  of  Colonel  Tennant,  a  large  and  prosperous  shipping- 
merchant  of  Baltimore  ;  in  October  of  the  same  year  his  wife 
died  after  giving  birth  to  a  son,  who  survived  her  but  a  few 
months.  To  this  brief  and  sad  episode  of  his  life  Mr.  Kenne 
dy  always  avoided  reference.  Its  painful  -associations  were 
such  that  he,  with  a  philosophy  characteristic  of  his  mind, 
turned  from  them  to  brighter  thoughts  and  the  healthful  re 
sources  of  occupation  and  society.  Though  he  preserved  no 
traces  of  this  period,  the  evidence  of  his  journals  and  letters 
proves  that  the  father  of  his  short-lived  bride,  entertained  for 
him  the  highest  regard ;  as  the  family  trustee  he  fulfilled  the 
duties  delegated  by  Colonel  Tennant  with  the  most  scrupulous 
fidelity  and  kindly  attention.  To  the  gentle  and  attached  wo- 


120  LIFE    OF  JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

ma,n  who  was  his  companion  for  so  short  a  time,  he  alludes, 
many  years  after,  in  one  of  his  journals,  with  a  tender  respect 
for  her  memory  characteristic  of  his  heart : 

May  3ist,  1832. — I  have  to  note  that  in  the  course  of  last 
winter,  the  burial-ground  of  Christ  Church,  which  was  near 
the  hospital,  was  broken  up,  and  the  remains  of  those  buried 
there  removed — among  the  rest,  those  of  one  who  is  associ 
ated  in  my  early  affections  with  a  fond  memory,  and  whose 
short  career  belonged  to  a  period  of  my  life  which  was  greatly 
endeared  by  her  gentle  and  loving  devotion, — my  first  wife — 
Mary — the  daughter  of  Colonel  Tennant  We  were  married  in 
January,  18^2),  and  she  died  in  October,  in  giving  birth  to  a  son, 
Tennant  Pendleton.  She  was  twenty-two — a  brief  space  wife, 
— still  briefer  mother — a  woman  of  a  kind  and  virtuous  nature, 
true,  just  and  noble  in  character,  with  a  spirit  all  devotion, 
cheerfulness  and  trust.  She  was  laid  in  the  family  burial- 
ground  of  her  father,  and  as  Colonel  Tennant  always  intended 
to  erect  a  vault  there,  I  placed  no  memorial  on  the  spot.  In 
eleven  months — in  September,  1825 — her  son  followed  her  and 
was  placed  by  her  side.  Upon  the  breaking  up  of  this  ceme 
tery,  her  remains,  and  those  of  her  child,  were  deposited  at 
Green  Mount,  in  the  enclosure  owned  by  John  Nelson,  the  late 
Attorney-General  of  the  United  States,  who  married  her  sister. 

Although  I  set  no  value  upon  a  tablet  to  mark  the  resting- 
place  of  human  remains,  holding  it  to  be  an  idle  and  useless 
custom,  yet  in  deference  to  common  opinion  I  mean  to  place 
some  unostentatious  and  simple  monument  over  the  mother 
and  child  whose  brief  fortunes  will  never  interest  the  world 
and  will  never  need  a  memorial  for  my  remembrance.  The 
spirits  that  informed  their  bodies  have  joined  their  kindred  na 
tures  in  a  world  of  spirits,  and  the  mortal  part  has  long  since 
escaped  the  bed  in  which  it  was  laid.  I  must  attend  to  this ; 
and  get  a  stone  prepared  with  such  inscription  as  custom  or 
dains,  to  tell  to  those  who  may  seek  such  a  record  hereafter, 
how  little  is  left  of  that  natural  structure  which  was  once  the 
temporary  lodgment  of  a  spirit  as  pure  and  gentle  as  that  of 


FOX-HUNTING. 


the  good  into  whose  companionship  she  has  long  since  enter 
ed,  and  with  whom  she  now  abides." 

There  was  a  club  of  gentlemen  in  those  early  days  in  Bal 
timore  and  its  vicinity,  addicted  to  fox-hunting,  another  of  the 
English  affinities  characteristic  of  the  place  and  people.  Mr. 
Kennedy,  whose  strength  had  been  prostrated  by  a  prolonged 
attack  of  quinsy—  the  result  of  a  severe  cold  taken  during  a 
visit  to  the  Susquehanna  as  one  of  a  committee  of  the  House  of 
Delegates—  joined  this  sporting  corps  and  sought  to  build  up 
his  constitution  by  equestrian  exercise,  to  which  he  had  been 
accustomed  in  youth,  the  practice  thereof  having  been  neglect 
ed  after  he  became  engaged  in  professional  and  public  life.  He 
regularly  hunted  with  the  club,  two  or  three  times  a  week,  for 
several  winters  ;  and  always  reverted  to  the  experience  with 
much  zest.  They  met  at  each  other's  houses,  breakfasted  by 
candlelight,  and  then  rode  to  North  Point,  and  thence,  in  every 
direction  across  the  country. 
6 


122  LIFE    OF   JOHN   I'.  KENNEDY. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Second  marriage ;  Law  Business  ;  Absences ;  Letters  to  Mrs.  Kennedy  ; 
Home  life  ;  Journeys ;  Residences  in  the  City  and  Country  house  at 
Patapsco. 

WITH  the  commencement  of  the  year  1828,  a  new  vista 
of  life  was  opened  to  Mr.  Kennedy  ;  active  as  had  been 
his  mind,  useful  his  labors  and  enjoyable  his  social  relations, 
he  needed,  more  than  the  average  of  men,  a  fame ;  his  nature 
was  so  gentle,  his  affections  so  earnest  and  his  tastes  so  essen 
tially  domestic,  that  for  the  healthful  and  happy  exercise  of  his 
talents  and  the  contentment  of  his  heart,  it  was  requisite  that 
he  should  constantly  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  household  love 
and  duty,  and  have  free  and  fond  scope  for  his  best  sympathies. 
The  good  Providence  which  he  always  gratefully  recognized  as 
the  guard  and  guide  of  his  life,  led  him  now  into  the  bosom  of 
a  family  and  to  the  hand  and  heart  of  a  woman  singularly  con 
genial  to  his  nature,  and  with  whom,  during  the  rest  of  his 
days,  he  found  all  that  could  harmonize  and  charm  his  being. 
In  the  minds  of  his  friends,  Mr.  Kennedy's  memory  is  indisso- 
lubly  associated  with  those  most  near  and  clear  to  him ;  with 
a  household  wherein  the  warmest  affections,  the  most  cultiva 
ted  society,  a  hospitality  and  a  heartiness  beyond  measure, 
seemed  at  once  to  enshrine  and  illustrate  a  life  and  character 
as  benign  as  accomplished  and  noble.  Among  the  letters  of 
this  period,  the  following  has,  to  those  who  knew  and  appre 
ciated  this  happy  home,  a  prophetic  significance  : 

"  Monday  night,  June  23d  1828. 

"  To  EDWARD  GRAY,  ESQ.  : — I  waited  at  your  house  last  night, 
until  after  dark,  expecting  your  return  from  town.     It  was  to 


SECOND    MARRIAGE.  123 

tell  you,  with  what  pleasure  I  cannot  express,  that  your  Eliza 
beth  is  mine.  Believe  me,  my  dear  friend,  it  has  made  me  ex 
tremely  happy,  and  that  I  feel  I  can  never  sufficiently  discharge 
the  obligation  of  protection  and  duty  it  has  laid  upon  me.  She 
shall  always  receive  from  me  the  homage  of  an  ardent  affection 
and  the  most  sincere  devotion  to  her  welfare." 

This  simple  and  manly  declaration  Mr.  Kennedy  carried  out, 
with  the  most  consistent  and  happy  fidelity,  for  forty  years  ;  his 
highest  anticipations  of  domestic  enjoyment  were  more  than 
realized ;  "  God  has  given  me  many  good  gifts,  Lizzie,  during 
my  life,"  he  said  to  his  wife  a  few  hours  before  he  died — "  but 
the  best  is  you."  His  engagement  was  a  new  stimulas  to  in 
dustry  ;  many  of  his  letters  during  the  succeeding  months,  to 
his  betrothed,  are  dated  at  Annapolis,  where  he  was  engaged 
in  legal  business  \  and  at  Philadelphia,  whither  he  often  went  to 
attend  to  the  settlement  of  his  uncle  Anthony's  estate,  of  which 
he  was  executor.  A  bequest  from  this  relative  was  a  very  sea 
sonable  aid  to  the  young  lawyer  at  this  time ;  but  he  depended 
mainly  on  the  fruits  of  his  professional  labor.  His  love-letters, 
if  such  they  may  be  called,  during  this  interval,  remind  me  of 
Steele's,  they  are  alternately  earnest  and  playful ;  and  their  nat 
ural  and  manly  sentiment  is  sustained  by  an  equal  element  of 
good  sense.  On  his  journeys  he  describes  very  aptly  the  com 
pany  he  meets,  and  takes  occasion  to  exhibit  his  own  views  of 
life  and  the  conjugal  relation  ;  he  frankly  narrates  all  he  does, 
sees  and  thinks  ;  impatient  at  separation,  he  reveals  himself  so 
frankly  by  correspondence,  that  it  is  evident  how  the  most  per 
fect  confidence  is  thus  confirmed  and  what  a  pure  and  perma 
nent  prospect  of  mutual  happiness,  based,  as  such  must  ever 
be,  on  the  resources  of  character  and  the  integrity  of  the  affec 
tions, — lies  before  them.  Mr.  Kennedy  was  married  to  Elizabeth 
Gray  on  the  5th  of  February,  1829.  Scores  of  notelets,  such  as 
Dick  Steele  used  to  send  Prue  from  the  office  of  the  Tattler 
and  the  House  of  Commons,  to  his  wife — from  the  Court  of  Ap 
peals,  show  how  occupied  Mr.  Kennedy  was  during  the  first 


124  LIFE    OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 

years  of  his  married  life.  He  tells  her  when  his  case  is  coming 
on;  how  his  argument  was  received  or  the  result  thereof;  he 
gives  her  all  those  details  of  his  personal  welfare  which  soothe 
affectionate  solicitude  for  the  absent ;  he  draws  amusing  por 
traits  of  his  comrades  and  colleagues  ;  reports  his  social  experi 
ence  with  graphic  zest,  confesses  his  longing  to  be  with  her,  and 
sends  all  kinds  of  warnings  and  suggestions  for  the  happiness 
of  his  young  wife  ;  "  it  is  now  eleven  o'clock,"  he  writes,  for  in 
stance  ;  "  I  have  got  through  all  my  studies  and  prepared  my 
self  to  make  a  long  speech  to-morrow ;  but  I  cannot  go  to  bed 
without  a  line  to  my  little  girl.  I  am  here  with  the  Attorney- 
General,  surrounded  with  books  and  papers,  and  wrapped  up  in 
my  wadded  robe  de  chambre ; — the  admiration  of  all  visitors — 
as  stately  and  parti-colored  as  a  Mufti.  I  am  well,  but  home 
sick."  And  from  Philadelphia  he  writes  of  an  interview  with 
Horace  Binney,  an  evening  with  Robert  Walsh,  Gilpin  or 
Mcllvaine,  and  a  dramatic  triumph  of  Fanny  Kemble  ;  from 
Washington  of  the  probable  success  of  a  memorial  he  is  urging 
upon  Congress  ;  of  the  prospects  of  the  Tariff,  of  the  "  demolition 
of  nullification  under  Webster's  sledge-hammer,"  of  the  Bank 
question,  and  his  own  business  before  the  courts,  interspersed 
with  personal  details  and  loving  utterances,  all  indicative  of  a 
busy,  observant,  sympathetic  life,  and  invariably  suggestive  of 
a  restrained  eagerness  to  get  back  to  his  home.  One  is  im 
pressed  in  glancing  over  these  early  family  letters  with  the  su 
perior  facilities  of  communication  we  enjoy  ;  the  closing  of  Elk 
River  by  the  ice,  the  delay  in  organizing  a  line  of  stage-coaches, 
when  a  stoppage  of  steamboats  occurs,  and  the  slow  transit  by 
canal,  are  in  striking  contrast  with  the  celerity  of  travel  be 
tween  the  same  cities  now. 

A  few  selections  from  Mr.  Kennedy's  letters  to  his  fiance, 
and  subsequently  to  his  wife,  will  best  describe  his  occupations 
during  the  first  years  of  his  married  life,  and  the  feelings  and 
views  he  cherished : 


LI'.TTKK.S    Ti>    M1>S    GRAY.  125 


ANNAPOLIS,  June  SGtli,  1828. 

You  see,  my  very  dear  Elizabeth,  to  what  your  pledge  of 
last  Monday  has  brought  you.  A  letter,  and  I  dare  say  he  will 
think  himself  entitled  to  write  you  another  and  another. 

This  is  the  first  letter  in  what  I  trust  is  to  be  a  long  and 
happy  correspondence  through  a  life  of  various  events,  in 
which  I  hope  to  find  ever  at  my  side,  for  love  and  counsel,  that 
enchanting  little  girl  who  sways  like  an  empress  all  my  best 
feelings. 

May  every  page  which  is  hereafter  to  follow  in  this  com 
munion,  even  to  the  latest  day  of  a  long  life,  bear  to  you  the 
same  fervent  affection  and  unalterable  faith  that  is  pledged  to 
you  on  this. 

I  am  here  at  present  deeply  engaged  in  the  studies  of  the 
term,  having  several  cases  of  great  weight  to  argue  in  a  few 
days,  the  preparation  for  which  occupies  all  the  time  at  my  dis 
posal  :  this  labor  is  by  no  means  the  most  agreeable  in  the 
oppressive  heats  of  the  last  three  or  four  days  ;  and  the  uncer 
tainty  of  the  moment  when  I  shall  be  called  before  the  court, 
prevents  me  from  making  any  calculation  when  I  shall  be  able 
to  visit  Baltimore. 

ANNAPOLIS,  July  2d,  1828. 

I  would  have  you  believe  that  you  mingle  as  much  in  the 
grave  concerns  of  my  life  as  you  do  in  the  most  agreeable  and 
gayest  of  my  feelings.  It  belongs  to  my  temper  to  throw  off  all 
distrust  in  every  relation  where  my  heart  is  interested,  and  to 
show  the  value  I  set  upon  the  object  of  my  regard  by  the  most 
unqualified  confidence  ;  to  you,  my  excellent  and  lovely  Eliza 
beth,  prizing  your  good  sense  and  accomplished  spirit  as  I  do, 
I  shall  always  look  as  to  an  intelligent  friend  and  faithful  ad 
viser  in  every  matter  that  can  affect  our  personal  happiness, 
saving  only  such  emergencies  as  it  might  pain  you  to  contem 
plate  :  as  my  affianced  wife,  it  is  not  too  much  for  me  to  ask  of 
you  a  return  of  the  same  confidence,  that  I  may  be  acquainted 


120  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

with  every  shade  of  opinion  that  belongs  to  you,  and  what  in 
any  degree  concerns  your  happiness. 

I  deem  too  highly  of  the  nature  of  this  engagement  to  con 
sider  it  less  than  sacred;  and  it  is  the  liveliest  object  of  my 
wishes  to  make  ours  a  union  of  affection,  sentiment  and  inter 
est  as  perfect  as  belongs  to  the  truest  hearts. 

ANNAPOLIS,  July  9th,  1828. 

I  may  thank  my  destinies  for  the  course  things  have  taken, 
as  they  have  relieved  me  from  further  duty  here  for  a  week 
to  come,  and  left  me  at  liberty  to  return  where  my  heart  and 
service  call  me.  I  shall,  therefore,  be  in  Baltimore  this  even 
ing,  and  as  soon  as  I  can  perform  some  little  matters  of  busi 
ness  which  may  occupy  me  for  a  day  or  two,  will  be  found 
wending  my  way  to  the  woody  glen  of  the  Patapsco  and  the 
cheerful  little  girl  that  adorns  it. 

I  have  become  quite  scrupulous  of  late  in  all  professional 
engagements,  and  look  with  the  most  contented  spirit  upon 
the  prospect  of  an  eager  pursuit  of  professional  honors. 

A  quiet  life  of  study  with  one  charming  being  by  my  side 
whose  virtues  fill  up  the  whole  measure  of  my  admiration,  and 
whom  I  do  most  gallantly  love,  is  to  me  at  present  the  best 
purpose  of  my  ambition.  To  cultivate  her  esteem  as  well  as 
affection,  and  to  give  her  cause  to  rejoice  in  the  spirit  that  pro 
tects  her,  is  a  wish  the  dearer  to  my  feelings  as  it  sensibly 
involves  all  that  I  have  to  hope  for  in  temporal  happiness. 

BALTIMORE,  July  24th,  1828. 

I  have  just  returned  from  Annapolis,  my  dear  E.,  with  such 
experience  of  the  heat  of  the  season  as  made  me  very  uneasy 
for  your  comfort  in  your  journey  from  this  to  Bedford,  where  I 
take  it  for  granted  your  are  to-day,  and  I  trust  in  the  enjoyment 
of  ease  and  pleasure.  You  are  able  now  to  say  whether  I 
misrepresented  the  annoyances  and  fatigues  of  your  enterprise, 
and  still  I  hope  you  have  not  found  them  so  bad  as  to  repress 
the  alacrity  of  your  homeward  progress,  which,  indeed,  my  dear 


LETTERS    TO   MISS    GRAY.  127 

girl,  I  look  for  as  the  Pagan  looks  for  the  rising  sun,  with  eastern 
devotion.  So  pray  come  back  as  so®n  as  you  have  discharged 
your  promise  to  your  Pittsburg  friends.  I  met  with  more  than 
ordinary  success  in  my  visit  of  two  days  to  Annapolis,  having 
gained  two  causes  and  settled  all  my  business  for  the  term. 
So  to-morrow  I  set  out  for  Philadelphia,  and  on  Monday  to 
Cape  May,  where  I  shall  remain  for  a  week,  and  thence  speed 
to  the  mountains. 

Tell  me  truly  what  you  think  of  your  ride  along  that  ever 
lasting  turnpike,  and  at  hours  so  uncongenial  to  your  common 
habits ;  and  after  all,  whether  you  are  compensated  by  any  thing 
you  have  seen  in  that  town  of  dust  and  smoke  where  this  will 
find  you,  apart  from  the  satisfaction  of  meeting  friends  and  re 
lations.  Your  philosophy  is  somewhat  sturdier  than  I  take  it 
to  be  if  it  triumphs  in  this  trial. 

BALTIMORE,  August  4th,  1828. 

I  have  just  got  home,  my  dear  Elizabeth,  after  an  absence 
of  ten  days,  having  arrived  yesterday  morning.  I  wrote  to  you 
from  Philadelphia  on  the  27th,  the  evening  before  I  embarked 
for  Cape  May — and  proceeding  on  my  voyage  remained  on  the 
sea-shore  only  five  days,  having  grown  tired  of*  all  I  saw  and 
enjoyed,  for  in  truth  the  bathing  there,  and  the  climate  too, 
merit  all  commendation  ;  but  the  society  was  in  no  respect  very 
captivating,  being  composed  of  a  class  of  people  that  I  always 
avoid,  and  besides  that,  I  myself  was  as  grave  and  out  of  place 
as  the  genius  of  dulness  could  make  me.  I  twice  sat  down  to 
write  to  you  and  actually  finished  a  letter  each  time,  but  not  car 
ing  to  inflict  upon  you  the  malady  of  my  own  heaviness,  I  tore 
them  up,  designing  to  write  under  better  circumstances.  The 
truth  is,  there  is  something  Boeotian  in  that  atmosphere — the 
eternal  billow  breaking  on  the  ear,  the  breeze  that  flutters  across 
you  all  day,  and  more  than  all,  the  ceaseless  obtrusion  of  the 
ocean  swell  upon  the  eye,  gave  to  me  a  constant  sensation  of  a 
swimming  motion  that  has  not  even  yet  left  me.  I  start  with 
it  in  my  dreams,  and  during  the  whole  time  I  remained  on  the 


128  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

coast,  it  kept  my  mind  in  confusion  too  great  to  enable  me  to 
extricate  myself  from  the  natural  loneliness  of  spirits  into  which 
our  separation  had  thrown  me. 


,  August  8th,  1828. 

I  arrived  here  about  nine  o'clock  to-night,  having  left  your 
father's  since  breakfast. 

It  would  make  you  vain  to  tell  you  with  what  eager  expec 
tation  the  mail  was  looked  for  yesterday  morning,  and  how 
tristful  every  visage  was  when  Uncle  Joe  announced  no  letters. 
And  what  a  rapture  they  were  all  thrown  into  this  morning 
when  the  deficiencies  of  yesterday  were  supplied  by  the  kindly 
packet  that  came  to  hand,  bringing  your  letters  of  Friday  and 
Sunday  !  I  rose  late,  not  dreaming,  my  dear  girl,  that  after  the 
disappointment  of  yesterday  our  good  fortune  was  to  be  so 
suddenly  reversed  ;  but  when  I  came  down,  I  had  a  lecture 
from  your  father  —  who  had  been  waiting  for  me  on  the  porch  —  • 
upon  my  lazy  habits  ;  then  there  was  a  sort  of  misgiving  joke  of 
his  about  the  girls  at  Pittsburg  not  writing,  then  the  announce 
ment  of  the  news,  while  he  slipped  your  enclosure  in  my  hand. 
I  read  it  over  and  over,  and  thank  you,  dearest  E.,  with  all  my 
heart. 

CLAYTON,  NEAR  CIIARLESTOWN,  VA.,  August  llth,  1828. 
I  write  to  you,  dearest  E.,  from  my  father's,  in  Virginia, 
amid  green  fields  and  glad  faces.  My  last  letter  to  you  was 
written  en  voyage  at  Fredericktown,  on  Friday  night,  by  one 
poor  candle,  and  after  a  fatiguing  drive.  You  perhaps  could 
scarcely  read  it,  and  if  it  were  legible,  found  it  difficult  to  con 
nect  its  disjointed  scraps  together.  Still,  my  dearest  love,  it 
was  the  pleasant  offering  of  a  warm  heart  to  the  mistress  of 
his  life,  and  spoke  what  he  will  ever  feel.  I  came  on  to  this  re 
gion  the  next  day  —  it  was  excessively  hot  —  and  poor  Topthorn 
remonstrated  with  me  very  much  for  the  length  of  the  drive  ; 
but  I  could  not  stop  short  of  this  term  of  my  journey  for  the 
sake  of  saving  the  exertion  of  some  ten  miles,  so  e'en  in  de- 


LETTERS    TO    MISS    GKAY.  129 

spite  of  the  very  warm  weather,  came  on.  My  mother  and  fa 
ther,  but  especially  my  mother,  were  delighted  to  see  me,  and 
after  some  sober  and  constrained  reserve  upon  the  subject — in 
tending  to  leave  me  to  my  own  time — my  mother  began  to 
give  me  some  hints  about  you.  I  came  out  and  told  her  ev 
ery  tiling — and  how  good  you  were,  and  how  sensible,  and  how 
educated;  how  pretty,  and  how  much  I  loved  you, — I  couldn't 
tell  her  how  much, — and  then  I  let  her  into  all  my  plans,  and  I 
could  see  in  her  eyes,  while  I  spoke  to  her,  that  joyous  lustre 
that  comes  from  a  mother's  sympathy.  And  she  told  me  that  I 
was  to  be  very  happy  if  half  I  said  was  true,  and  that  I  must 
take  care  of  you  and  cherish  and  protect  and  value  you  very 
much  ;  to  which  I  said  I  was  ready  to  vow  that  in  the  church 
—and  so  I  am,  Elizabeth,  and  to  make  good  my  vow  so  long 
as  we  both  shall  live. 

MARTINSBUKG,  BERKELEY  Co.,  August  16th,  1828. 
Although  I  have  been  continually  surrounded  by  the  best 
and  kindest  of  friends  since  I  set  my  foot  in  Virginia,  it  still 
goes  heavily  with  me,  because,  in  truth,  I  want  to  see  you  very 
much,  and  am  almost  tempted  to  cross  the  Alleghany  in  spite  of 
your  injunction.  However,  you  may  rest  easy  on  that  score.  I 
shall  wait  in  the  confident  hope  that  after  the  lapse  of  one 
week,  when  this  shall  come  to  hand,  you  will  be  preparing  for 
your  return. 

WINCHESTER,  Aug.  28tli,  1828. 

Do  you  know,  I  have  not  received  a  letter  from  you  or 
any  body  else  since  I  left  your  father's  ?  I  directed  my  brother 
at  Charlestown  to  forward  letters  to  me  only  when  he  was  sure 
that  they  would  come  safe  to  hand — and  my  course  of  late  had 
been  so  eccentric  and  extravagant  (I  mean  in  Shakspeare's 
sense)  that  it  would  scarcely  have  been  practicable  to  have 
overtaken  me  without  an  express.  And  I  must  consequently 
wait  until  Sunday  before  I  can  get  a  line.  You  don't  know  how 
it  frets  me,  all  patient  and  immovable  as  you  take  me  to  be. 
6* 


130  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

By  the  by,  I  think  a  man  who  talks  a  little  and  shows  some  anger 
suffers  less  under  such  circumstances.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  swear 
it  off  and  get  into  a  better  humor  by  "unpacking  my  heart  with 
words  " — but  that  I  do  not  think  it  congruous  with  the  char 
acter  I  aim  at.  So  I  will  e'en  play  the  philosopher  until  we 
meet,  dearest  E.  And  if  ever  you  catch  me  travelling  east 
again  when  you  travel  west,  or  find  yourself  journeying  alone 
in  this  wide  world,  it  shall  be  because  I  have  no  right  or  privi 
lege  to  guard  or  guide  you.  Next  summer  I  hope  we  shall  visit 
this  country  together.  I  can  give  you  many  inducements  to  such 
a  journey.  My  friends  here  are  excellent  people,  with  whom 
you  will  find  many  points  of  communion. 

Mr.  Philip  Pendleton,  my  uncle,  with  whom  I  have  passed 
the  last  ten  days,  I  think  the  first  man  in  point  of  talents,  ac 
quirements  and  manners  that  I  have  ever  been  acquainted 
with  His  influence  upon  society  here  is  pervading  and  irre 
sistible,  and  his  reputation  throughout  the  State  very  high. 

The  good  estimation  in  which  my  friends  here  hold  me  (for 
I  am  like  the  stray  sheep  of  the  Scripture,  whose  return  gives 
more  joy  than  the  safety  of  the  whole  flock),  already  has  ren 
dered  you  an  object  of  interest  to  them.  I  am  sure  you  will 
love  each  other. 

This  little  place,  Winchester,  has  some  pretensions  to  fash 
ion.  It  has  a  sort  of  city  aspiration,  a  metropolitan  air,  and 
holds  its  head  high  above  the  villages  around.  Its  society  is 
tolerably  large  and  gay.  They  have  belles  and  beauties  here, 
and  coquettes  too,  and  scores  of  flirtations.  I  mean  when  I  get 
home  to  write  a  chapter  upon  "  Country  Belles,"  and  am  look 
ing  about  now  for  subjects. 

PHILADELPHIA,  October  18th,  1828. 

I  have  been  too  much  engaged  since  I  left  you  almost  to 
write ;  my  uncle's  estate  having  been  left  under  the  control  of 
three  executors,  of  whom  I  am  the  only  counsellor,  you  may 
imagine  the  few  days  I  have  been  here  have  not  been  idly 
spent. 


LI:TTI:RS  TO  MRS.  KENNEDY.  131 

I  can  hardly  tell  you  the  value  of  what  he  has  devised  to 
myself  and  my  brother — property  in  town  here  worth  perhaps 
forty  thousand  dollars,  and  Heaven  knows  how  much  land  in 
Maryland,  Virginia  and  Pennsylvania,  some  of  it  about  thir 
teen  miles  from  Pittsburg — a  rather  troublesome  inheritance, 
and  I  apprehend,  in  my  hands,  not  worth  much.  I  shall  let  it 
all  be  quiet  to  increase  in  value  as  the  country  grows,  and 
support  myself  and  family  by  my  professional  labors — seek 
ing  that  darling  of  my  hopes,  renown,  in  a  course  of  assidu 
ous  application.  What  think  you  of  that  ? 

PHILADELPHIA,  April  4th,  1832. 

MY  DEAR  E.  : — I  have  not  discovered  that  the  city  of  Penn 
has  in  any  degree  changed  its  position  since  my  last  advices. 
The  only  vicissitudes  worth  remarking  is  the  sudden  return  of 
winter,  who  (like  some  awkward  bully  that  has  flung  out  of  a 
room  in  a  passion  and  returns  again  for  his  hat,  and  then  again 
for  his  cloak  and  afterwards  for  his  gloves,  all  of  which  he  had 
severally  forgotten,  when  he  ought  to  have  remembered  them) 
comes  back  upon  us  now  when  we  had  congratulated  ourselves 
that  he  was  half-way  to  the  North  Pole. 

PHILADELPHIA,  April  25th,  1832. 

MY  DEAR  E. : — Dag  (a  pet  name  of  his  brother  Andrew) 
left  here  this  morning,  and  your  father  has  not  yet  arrived,  and 
between  the  two  stools  I  have  come  to  the  ground.  Think  of 
your  unfortunate  lord  pent  up  in  the  third  story  of  Mrs. 
Swords's  back  building,  looking  out  westwardly  upon  a  buck 
wheat-batter  sky,  with  a  pewter  sun  shining  through  it  like  a 
kitchen  plate.  No  minstrelsy  music  to  Beguile  my  captivity, 
except  the  clink  of  trowels  chucking  in  mortar  upon  the  foun 
dation  stones  of  Mrs.  Swords's  new  house  that  is  building  (being 
built)  next  door.  No  wild  ocean  roar  to  lullaby  his  free  soul 
into  forgetfulness,  except  the  roar  of  a  cart  that  is  now  passing 
along  with  ashes  over  the  pebbly  bottom  of  Chestnut  Street  j 
no  warder's  tramp  upon  the  battlements  to  revive  the  recollec- 


132  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

tions  of  chivalry,  except  the  heavy,  fat-ankled  foot-fall  of  J.  A. 
M.,  of  Bordeaux,  who  deals  in  wines,  as  he  steps  ponderously 
along  the  lengthened  corridor  in  a  pair  of  indiscriminate 
boots,  fire-bucketish  and  meal-baggish,  and  capable  of  being 
drawn  upon  either  leg  of  any  man  six  feet  in  the  waist,  or 
weighing  twenty-five  stone — made  by  the  celebrated  boot 
maker  between  Girard's  Bank  (Girard  no  more)  and  Chestnut 
Street ;  no  chieftain's  horn  to  raise  up  visions  of  the  woodland 
chase,  but  the  huge  prolonged  proboscal  blast  of  Doctor  C. 
(next  room)  as  he  ever  and  anon  puts  down  his  pen  and,  for  a 
second,  ceases  to  illuminate  the  world,  while  he  revivifies  his 
exhausted  brain  with  snuff  and  twangs  his  nose  so  loud  and 
clear  that  all  Mrs.  Swords's  boarders,  among  whom  is  Mrs.  C., 
acknowledge  it  the  herald  and  harbinger  of  learned  tidings  to 
the  world  of  reading  dunces.  Such  and  so  barren  is  the  thral 
dom  of  your  poor  husband.  Certainly  your  fate,  piteous  as 
you  represent  it,  cannot  compare  with  this ;  and  I  would 
therefore  have  you  contemplate  the  picture  I  have  given  you, 
that  you  may  thence  derive  consolation  and  lessons  of  resig 
nation. 

PHILADELPHIA,  April  27th,  1832. 

MY  DEAR  E. : — Your  father  has  come  back  from  New  York ; 
our  business  is  all  arranged,  or  will  be  to-day,  and  we  set  out 
to-morrow  morning  on  our  return  to  all  that  we  hold  clearest. 
And  how  glad  I  am  to  see  the  clay  of  return  draw  nigh  !  This 
whole  city,  with  all  its  dust,  that  they  throw  into  people's  eyes, 
would  be  a  poor  bargain  in  exchange  for  the  pleasure  of  get 
ting  back  to  little  Puss,  even  to  pass  a  day  with  her.  I  -have 
bought  you  some  toys,  in  my  idleness,  which  I  assure  you  gen 
erally  costs  me  as  much  money  as  other  people's  industry. 

PHILADEPHIA,  Dec.  26tli,  1832. 

Only  think  what  a  course  of  dissipation  I  run  through  ! 
Here  is  Wednesday,  the  day  I  had  proposed  to  set  out  for 
Baltimore  by  the  way  of  Lancaster,  and  I  am  still  in  Thebes. 


LETTERS    TO    MRS.  KKXNKDV.  133 

The  reason  of  it  is  two-fold  :  ist,  it  rains,  and  I  could  not 
travel ;  and  20,  the  agent  of  the  steamboat  says  the  thaw  will 
restore  the  navigation  by  Friday,  so  I  determined  to  stay  for 
it.  Mr.  Clay  is  waiting  for  the  same  opportunity,  and  so  is 
Mr.  Johnston.  Mr.  Webster  will  be  here  to-day  to  pursue 
the  same  route.  If  the  boat  fails,  we  have  all  agreed  to  take 
a  coach  to  ourselves  on  Saturday,  and  return  at  our  leisure  in 
two  days,  without  this  pestilent  early  starting  before  day. 
This  arrangement  is  recommended  by  so  many  considerations 
of  comfort  and. the  pleasure  of  good  company,  that  I  have 
fallen  into  it  without  further  quarrel  with  the  difficulties  that 
have  blockaded  me  in  this  port ;  so  at  the  outside  look  for  me 
on  Sunday  evening. 

Mr.  Clay  is  in  good  heart  about  the  Union.  He  thinks 
the  difference  will  be  arranged  by  a  surrender  of  the  Tariff  by 
the  Jackson  party.  I  don't  think  so.  They  will  perhaps 
strike  upon  some  plan  to  reduce  the  tariff  in  ten  years,  by  steps 
three  years  apart.  This  may  save  us,  and  in  the  meantime  a 
European  war  may  occur  that  will  be  as  good  as  a  tariff. 
This  is  all  the  hope  I  have.  The  course  taken  by  Virginia  is 
very  ominous.  It  will  utterly  prevent  all  fighting,  and  per 
haps  lead  to  discontents  in  the  North  which  will  sever  the 
Union  sooner  than  those  of  the  South.  Both  sides  are  exas 
perated,  and  there  is  no  hope  between  them.  There  is  the 
deep  wound.  It  is  a  melancholy  subject,  and  I  am  glad  to 
get  rid  of  it. 

PHILADELPHIA,  Dec.  28th,  1832. 

What  a  long  journey,  dear  E.  I  left  this  place  Monday 
morning  at  6  o'clock,  on  my  way  to  Baltimore,  and  here  is 
Friday,  and  I  do  verily  believe  it  will  be  Saturday  night  before 
I  arrive ;  and  for  a  man  in  a  hurry,  too,  what  despatch  ! 
Well,  if  life  has  its  headwinds  it  has  also  its  havens,  where  a 
man  gets  at  last  however  buffeted.  I  hope  now  speedily  to 
furl  my  sail  in  that  only  haven  where  a  sensible  man  fixes 
his  affections — at  home  with  wife  and  friends. 


134: 


LIFE   OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 


NEW  YORK,  October  18th,  1833. 

^Well,  dear  little  girl,  it  is  all  over,  and  such  a  time  as  I  had 
of  it !     You  may  imagine  the  crowd— three  thousand  people 
in  the  room  and  about  one  thousand  out  of  doors— trying  in 
vain  to  get  in.     Mr.  Clay  and  myself  were  waited  upon  by  a 
committee  at  seven  o'clock    and   conducted   to    the    chapel, 
which  we  entered  arm  and  arm  and  passed  down  the  long  aisle 
to  the  pulpit,  where  he  took  his  seat  upon  my  right.     The 
house  was  well  adapted  to  the  voice— it  was  the  old  Chatham 
Theatre  where  we  saw  the  French  opera.     The  boxes  and  gal 
lery  remain  as  they  were,  and  these  were  filled  to  the  back  of 
the  third  tier— not  another  soul  even,  to  say  nothing  of  body, 
could  have  been  crammed  in.     In  all  the  light  and  declama 
tory  parts  of  my  oration  I  got  a  liberal  hand  from  my  audience 
—they  applauded  to  the  echo.     In  the  grave  and  tariffy  parts 
they  were  respectfully  silent,  which  was  all  I  could  ask.     The 
ladies  (of  which  I  suppose  one-half  of  my  auditory  consisted) 
are  not  apt  to  relish  political  economy.     I  am  told,  however, 
and  so  Mr.  Clay  has  said  in  private  since,  that  it  was  an  ex 
cellent  speech,  and  that  my  effort  was  altogether  successful. 
The  night  was  hot,  and  we  kept  the  windows  near  me  open- 
in  consequence  the  wind  blew  in  upon  the  lamps  that  stood 
near  and  put  them  out  alternately  on  my  right  and  left  three 
times.     Whenever  this   happened  I  only  shifted  my  reading 
desk  to  the  opposite  side.     If  it  had  not  been  for  this  dis 
closure  I  believe  the  audience  would  not  have  been  aware  that 
I  was  reading  from  my  notes.     We  had  an  orchestra  with  about 
one  hundred  voices  to  help  it,  and  the  ceremonies  commenced 
with  the  Marseilles  Hymn.     After  the  oration  we  retired  to  a 
splendid  supper  with  the  members  of  the  Institute,  about  three 
hundred.     This  was  very  brilliant.     Mr.  Clay  was  toasted,  and 
made  a  speech  which  he  concluded  by  proposing,  most  unex 
pectedly  and  alarmingly  to  me,  my  health,  with  some  compli 
ment  to  my  speech.     So  of  course  I  had  to  get  up.     I  did  so, 
and  made  a  short  speech,  and  in  the  usual  form  offered  a  sen- 


LETTERS    TO    MRS.   KENNEDY.  135 

timent  that  was  well  received,  and  soon  afterward,  it  being  now 
midnight,  we  retired  to  our  lodgings.  Mr.  Clay  made  me  re 
main  with  him  a  short  time  after  the  company  left  us  to  say 
that  he  was  very  much  gratified,  etc. 

BEDFORD  SPRINGS,  Aug.  6th,  1834. 

I  have  discovered,  dear  E.,  that  our  gynocrasy,  or  female 
body  politic,  is  split  up  into  factions.     We  have  first  a  Balti 
more  party,  second,  a  Philadelphia  party,  and  a  teriium  quid. 
in  a  Pittsburg  party..     The  Baltimore  party  is  charged  by  both 
members   of    the   opposition   with   being   clannish,  in   other 
words,  too  powerfully  acted  upon  by  the  attraction  of  affinity  ; 
the  Philadelphia  party  is  different :  it  suffers  from  the  attrac 
tion  of  repulsion,  whereby  its  members  or  integral  parts  are 
not  only  at  war  with  the  other  parties,  but  also  at  war  with 
themselves.    The  Pittsburg  party  labor  under  the  disadvantages 
of  too  potent  an  attraction  of  gravitation,  whereby,  like  lead, 
they  have  a  tendency  to  come  to  the  ground.     They  are  staid 
and  quiet  and  sleepy.     Such  is  a  philosophical  analysis  of  the 
internal  discriminations  which  prevail  in  the  mixture  of  our 
society.     These  differences  have  produced,  as  is  usual  in  all 
States,  a  party  war,  which  is  carried  on  with  a  spirit  and  zeal 
that  partake  of  the  complexion  of  the  respective  belligerents. 
The  Baltimoreans  fight  in  a  phalanx,  closely  shouldering  side 
by  side,  like  the  Saxon  array  in  the  Lady  of  the  Lake.     The 
Philadelphia's  skirmish,  as  Davy  Crockett  says,  "each  upon 
his  own  hook ;"  sometimes  shooting  at  the  enemy  and  some 
times  treacherously  at  each  other.     The  Pittsburgians  stand 
like  a  clownish  toy  between  two  combatants,  getting  hits  from 
each,  and  gaping  in  passive  wonderment  upon  the  fray.     Mrs. 
B.,  with  her  tribe  of  Lilliputians,  arrived  here  in  the  midst  of 
the  war,  and  a  stray  Philadelphia!!,  not  suspecting  whence  she 
came,  but  probably  believing  the  party  to  be  inland,  made  a 
full  disclosure  to  one  of  the  girls  of  the  odious  deportment  of 
the  Baltimoreans,  hoping  to  enlist  the  new-comers  as  allies  in 
the  Philadelphia  cause  j  but  you  may  imagine  an  overture  of 


136  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

such  treasonable  import  was  not  only  rejected  with  disdain, 
but  encountered  with  all  the  fervor  of  indignant  patriotism. 
So  the  war  has  got  bitterer  than  ever.  We  shoot  past  each 
other  in  carriages,  gigs,  buggies,  barouches  and  other  ordi 
nance,  of  the  war,  on  our  evening  drives,  like  so  many  Hectors 
or  Diomeds  in  armed  chariots  darting  over  the  battle-field. 
At  night  the  cotillions  are  so  many  detachments  drawn  up  for 
separate  combat ;  the  reel  is  the  most  spiteful  of  manoeuvres, 
and  the  waltz  is  a  regular  joust  d  r entrance.  But  still  the  main 
thing  goes  on  ;  we  are  all  increasing  in  bulk  and  breadth, 
eating  like  so  many  trained  soldiers  indifferent  to  the  horrors 
of  war,  and  drinking  more  like  a  fire-engine  than  Christian 
men. 

ANNAPOLIS,  Dec.  31, 1846. 

MY  DEAR  E. : — My  little  clock,  which  hangs  upon  the  wall 
of  my  chamber,  is  now  clicking  industriously  on  its  way  to  mid 
night.  In  a  few  minutes,  the  year  184*7  will  glide  in  upon  this 
silent  world.  A  few  guns  fired  at  intervals  through  this  little 
metropolis  tell  the  drowsy  inhabitants  that  '46  is  speeding  off 
to  jo,in  '45  and  the  dead  centuries.  I  have  had  visitors  with 
me  all  the  evening,  and  have  been  busy  until  the  last  half 
hour  in  making  out  my  list  of  committees  for  the  House,  and 
although  tired,  I  could  not  go  to  bed  without  wishing  that  you, 
my  dear  wife,  who  have  been  so  good  through  all  the  past  of 
our  fellowship,  may  henceforth  through  the  New  Year,  and 
many  more  besides,  be  as  happy  and  blest  as  your  heart  could 
wish.  A  thousand  thousand  blessings  on  you,  dear  E  !  and 
the  choicest  gifts  of  Heaven  on  your  good  father ;  may  his 
old  age  continue  many  years  as  happy  as  now.  Say  to  dear 
Mart  that  I  wish  her  all  manner  of  good  gifts  in  this  world 
and  rich  rewards  in  the  next,  where  I  hope  she  will  not  go  for 
a  half  century  yet. 

As  to  myself,  a  jolly  young  dog,  I  am  determined  I  will 
reform,  and  save  my  constitution  for  the  benefit  of  the  good 
people  of  the  year  1900. 


ABSENCES    FROM    HfrtlK.  137 

Quite  naively  these  off-hand  epistles  make  us  partake  his 
daily  life  and  casual  moods.  His  prescience  as  regards  the  char 
acter  and  future  record  of  public  men,  many  of  whom  he  knew 
at  the  very  outset  of  their  career,  is  often  apparent  in  the  first 
impressions  thus  confided  to  his  wife  in  such  remarks  as  this  : 

"  The  only  topic  here  is  the  probable  nomination  of to 

;  not  to  my  taste,  but,  speaking  in  reference  to  his  powers 

of  doing  mischief,  it  is  probably  best  fur  the  country  that  he 
too  should  be  pocketed,  as  a  billiard-player  would  say ;  he  ought 
to  have  been  a  cardinal  and  planted  at  Rome,  to  intrigue  for 
the  Papal  chair."  The  vicinity  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  house  to  the> 
Capital,  made  it  convenient  sojourn  for  his  friends  there,  when 
they  had  a  day  or  two  for  rest  and  recreation ;  and  they  often 
went  with  him  on  his  return  and  passed  a  Sunday  at  the  charm 
ing  country  residence  of  his  father-in-law.  During  his  visit  to 
Washington,  when  attending  the  Supreme  Court  or  the  passage 
of  some  bill  through  Congress,  he  saw  much  of  Seaton  and 
Southard,  William  Kent  and  Judge  Wayne.  His  impatience  at 
these  enforced  absences  during  the  early  years  of  his  married 
life,  sometimes  finds  amusing  expression.  Thus,  writing  from 
New  York  in  the  summer  of  1836,  after  describing  the  pleasant 
intercourse  he  had  enjoyed  with  Hone  and  Irving,  Brevoort, 
Captain  Read  and  others,  he  adds :  "  I  am  at  Bunker's,  four 
stories  high,  in  a  room  sufficiently  stocked  with  mosquitoes ;  O 
Puss,  how  little  I  would  be  bitten  if  you  were  here  !  but  at  pres 
ent,  I  am  the  sole  object  of  their  regard  ;''  and  later,  from  An 
napolis,  he  writes  :  "  the  course  of  law  never  did  run  smooth, 
so  here  I  am  a  forlorn  tide-waiter  on  their  three  worships  the 
Court  of  Appeals ;  I  am  very  well,  and  if  my  shirts  hold  out, 
shall  be  as  happy  as  my  beautiful  remembrance  will  allow  your 
disconsolate  shadow  to  be :"  and  again  from  Philadelphia — 
"  O  Lizzie,  Lizzie  !  these  villains  of  the  Mercantile  Library, 
have  just  sent  for  me  to  dine  with  them  to-morrow, — some  state 
occasion,  to  which  the  lecturers  are  invited,  and  so  I  must  go 
and  there  must  be  a  speech." 

In  the  summer  following  his  marriage  Mr.  Kennedy  visit- 


138  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

ed,  as  usual,  his  kindred  in  Virginia,  and  on  his  return  to  Bal 
timore,  in  the  autumn,  took  up  his  residence  with  his  bride  in 
a  house  in  North  Charles  Street  which  -her  father  had  furnished 
for  them.     His  days  were  sedulously  occupied  with  legal  bus 
iness  ;  but  he  devoted  the  evening  to  literature  and  began  to 
prepare  his  first  acknowledged  work — "  Swallow  Barn" — for 
the  press.     Never  dawned  a  more  happy,  domestic  life  than 
now  cheered  and  charmed  him ;  with  business  enough  to  sup 
port  his  household  and  yet  adequate  leisure  for  literary  pur 
suits,  with  a  few  choice  and  intimate  friends,  a  lovely  and  de 
voted  wife  and  a  growing  reputation  for  high  character  and 
rare    talents,  Mr.  Kennedy's  early  manhood  was  singularly 
blessed.     His  wife  first  entered  society  after  her  marriage,  and 
the  most  agreeable  reunions  alternated  with  dramatic  entertain 
ments  or  quiet  and  genial  hours  by  their  own  fireside.    Almost 
daily  they  had  a  friend  or  two  at  dinner,  and  their  house  was  the 
centre  of  a  delightful  circle.  The  early  summer  months  were  al 
ways  passed  at  Mr.  Gray's  house  in  the  country  ;  in  August  they 
made  a  trip  to  Virginia  or  the  north,  or  visitedjhe  White  Sul 
phur  Springs,  travelling  in  the  family  carriage,  by  easy  stages  ; 
there  were  but   few  railroads  then   in  Virginia.      The   first 
stroke  of  adversity  which  broke  upon  their  early  happiness 
was  occasioned  by  the  ravages  of  cholera  in  Baltimore  dur 
ing  their  absence.     For  many  months  Mr.  Kennedy's  spirits 
were   depressed   by  the  loss   of  his  friend    Cruse,  whom  he 
never  ceased  affectionately  to  regret.     There  is  a  passage  in 
the  "  Life  of  Wirt"  describing  the  auspicious  influence  of  his  do 
mestic  life  upon  his  social  and  professional  career  and  his  per 
sonal  happiness,  which  finds  its  parallel  in  the  author's  own  ex 
perience  : 

"  Here  it  was  his  happiness  to  witness  the  quick  growth  of 
esteem  and  consideration;  to  become  conscious,  clay  by  day,  of 
the  unfolding  of  those  talents  which  were  adequate  to  the 
winning  of  a  good  renown.  Here  he  found  himself  growing, 
with  rapid  advance,  in  the  affection  of  a  circle  of  friends, 
whose  attachment  was  then  felt  as  a  cheerful  light  upon  his 


TOWN    RESIDENCE:*. 

path,  and  which  promised  a  not  less  benign  radiance  over  his 
future  days.  But,  above  all  other  gratifications,  here  it  was 
that  he  became  an  inmate  of  that  delightful  home  which  love 
had  furnished." 

In  1833  Mr.  Kennedy  and  his  wife  visited  Saratoga,  the 
White  Mountains  and  Boston  ;  his  review  of  Cambreleng's 
Report  had  made  him  favorably  known  in  the  most  intelligent 
and  influential  political  society  there  ;  and  his  pictures  of  Vir 
ginia  life,  in  the  olden  time,  were  familiar  to  the  literary  cir 
cles,  so  that  he  was  cordially  welcomed  and  entertained  by  the 
leading  citizens  and  laid  the  foundation  then  and  there  of  last 
ing  friendships. 

In  1834  Mr.  Kennedy  and  his  old  friend  Pennington 
bought  lots  together  in  Mount  Vernon  Place  and  built  the  two 
houses  that  now  form  part  of  the  Peabody  Institute ;  they 
were  then  the  only  dwellings  in  the  vicinity,  except  that  of 
Mr.  Charles  Howard  ;  none  of  the  streets  around  were  paved 
and  but  few  graded  ;  many  trees  grew  upon  the  slope.  The 
house  was  large,  eligibly  situated  and  most  comfortably  ar 
ranged  ;  but  as  Mr.  Gray  passed  the  winters  with  his  son-in- 
law,  and  objected  on  account  of  his  asthmatic  tendency  to 
climbing  the  adjoining  hilly  streets,  after  five  years,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Kennedy  took  up  their  abode  with  her  father,  in  a  house 
in  North  Calvert  Street,  where  Wirt  had  formerly  resided,  in 
the  lower  centre  of  the  city,  on  Monument  Square. 

During  his  residence  in  Mount  Vernon  Place,  Mr.  Kennedy 
wrote  his  two  novels — "  Horse-Shoe  Robinson  "  and  "  Rob 
of  the  Bowl."  At  this  period  he  gradually  withdrew  from 
.the  practice  of  law,  and  devoted  his  time  and  talents  to 
economical  enterprises  connected  with  the  progress  and  pros 
perity  of  his  native  city.  His  journals  at  this  time  exhibit  a 
remarkable  combination  of  practical  and  artistic  work  ;  for 
while  engaged  upon  his  historical  romances,  he  was  the  assid 
uous  and  official  promoter  of  the  most  important  railroad  lines 
then  projected  and  since  identified  with  the  enlarged  trade  and 
increasing  population  of  Baltimore. 


140  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

After  the  death  of  Mr.  Gray,  in  1856,  the  house  on  Cal- 
vert  Street  was  relinquished ;  and  on  the  return  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Kennedy  and  her  sister  from  Europe  in  1858,  the  house 
in  Madison  Street,  in  which  was  passed  the  remainder  of  his 
life,  was  built.  They  moved  into  it  in  December,  1859.  Mr. 
Kennedy  took  much  interest  in  arranging  this,  his  new  abode  ; 
he  enjoyed  constructing  a  library  according  to  his  own  taste 
and  wishes.  He  found,  indeed,  such  congenial  occupation  in 
this  agreeable  sanctum,  that,  yielding  to  the  infirmities  which 
precluded  much  exercise,  his  life  became  altogether  too  seden 
tary  after  he  had  installed  his  household  gods  to  his  satisfac 
tion  ;  and  his  old  friend  and  physician  Doctor  Buckler  was 
obliged,  again  and  again,  during  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  to 
insist  upon  his  abandoning  books  and  writing-desk,  and  taking 
long  journeys  both  abroad  and  at  home,  whereby  his  health 
was  renewed  and  his  existence  prolonged.  But  his  town  resi 
dences  are  riot  the  only  homes  affectionately  associated  with 
his  memory  in  the  hearts  of  his  friends.  Several  months  of 
every  year  were  passed  at  Patapsco,  the  country-seat  of  his 
father-in-law. 

Mr  Gray  highly  enjoyed  his  rural  abode  in  the  midst  of 
his  industrial  enterprise.  This  pleasant  but  unpretending 
country-house  rises  from  the  river  bank,  about  a  mile  below 
Ellicott's  Mills,  with  a  bridge  across  the  Patapsco ;  on  the  op 
posite  shore  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  railroad  winds  along  in 
the  shadow  of  the  hills ;  these  picturesque  heights  rise  grace 
fully  around ;  they  are  at  the  lowest  declivity  of  the  Maryland 
Highlands,  called  Elk  Ridge.  Encompassed  by  lofty  and 
wooded  hills,  the  long  glen  thus  formed,  with  its  range  of 
mills  and  beautiful  stream,  reminds  one  of  some  of  those  old 
half-feudal  looking  localities  in  the  old  world,  where  little 
towns  nestle  amid  the  fastnesses  of  nature  and  romantic  scen 
ery  lends  a  charm  to  isolated  life.  In  this  instance  the  resem 
blance  is  enhanced  by  the  village  itself — a  long  row  of  dwell 
ings  and  shops  on  both  sides  of  the  Patapsco,  whence  a  road 
ascends  to  a  mountain — the  very  site  for  a  Baronial  Castle,  but 


ELLICOTT'S  MILLS.  141 

now  graced  with  a  more  appropriate  republican  edifice,  de 
voted  to  a  flourishing  female  seminary.  In  the  palmy  days  of 
the  township,  before  flood  and  fire  had  marred  its  prosperity, 
Mr.  Gray  might  have  been  regarded  as  a  kind  of  lord  of  the 
manor,  not  as  suggesting  the  old  traditional  authority,  but 
from  his  beneficent  influence,  his  encouragement  of  schools 
and  churches,  his  kindness  to  the  sick  and  poor,  his  constant 
hospitality  and  the  number  and  thriftiness  of  his  employees. 
His  house  was  then  surrounded  with  fine  trees  and  rare  shrub 
bery  ;  its  architecture  and  material  were  composite  •  originally 
built  in  the  old  post  frame  style,  parts  were  added  of  granite ; 
it  was  embosomed,  in  summer,  in  foliage ;  nothing  can  ex 
ceed  the  radiant  beauty  of  the  autumn-tinted  woods  which 
clothe  the  adjacent  hill-sides  at  that  season  ;  and  even  in  win 
ter,  when  the  verdure  of  the  evergreens  contrasts  with  the 
snow-clad  landscape.  Its  sheltered  position,  however,  made 
it  an  undesirable  abode  at  midsummer,  and  as  the  weather 
grew  sultry,  the  family  made  a  trip  to  the  mountains  of  Vir 
ginia  or  the  watering  places  of  the  North.  With  a  taste  for 
horticulture  and  a  love  of  books  and  cultivated  society,  the  in 
tervals  of  Mr.  Gray's  work,  while  superintending  the  mills, 
were  here  spent  delightfully  in  fostering  rare  plants,  reading 
favorite  authors  or  making  excursions  with  his  guests  about  the 
adjacent  country.  For  more  than  thirty  years  this  favorite 
homestead  was  the  scene  of  his  most  successful  labor  and  his 
happy,  domestic  and  social  life.  The  winter  months  he  usu 
ally  passed  in  Baltimore,  only  nine  miles  distant  and  acces 
sible  by  turnpike  and  railroad. 

We  gain  a  pleasant  idea  of  the  pleasant  life  in  this  rural 
abode  from  a  letter  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  written  thence  to  his 
sister-in-law  who  had  preceded  him  and  his  wife  to  Europe : 

PATAPSCO,  June  7th,  1857. 

MY  DEAR  MARTHA  : — After  a  week  of  unexampled  work  we 
have  at  last  got  a  foothold  here  amid  this  beautiful  scenery, 
where  every  thing  around  is  so  fresh  and  green  and  the  people 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

all  so  happy  at  our  coming.  All  seem  to  be  doing  unusually 
well,  and  even  little  Jenny  is  chirping  over  her  work  and 
crochet,  Lizzie  tells  me,  in  a  perfect  delight,  with  a  boast  that 
"  now  she  is  sure  to  have  something  nice  every  day,"  and  ac 
cordingly  Lizzie  began  this  morning — one.  of  the  lovely  morn 
ings  of  the  year — by  sending  her  a  good  breakfast.  This  will  be 
followed  at  dinner  with  strawberries  and  cream,  and  the  little 
child  will  sing  for  joy.  Old  Wheeler  is  storing  the  books  and 
furniture  and  giving  up  our  house  in  Calvert  street  with  many  a 
bland  smile  of  congratulation,  with  that  stoop  of  his  which, 
I  should  say,  has  been  copied  by  the  Dean  of  St  Paul's,  who 
though  a  wiser  is  not  a  better  man.  Bone  is  blooming  like  the 
rose  of  sharon  ;  and  his  wife  is  a  vivid  portraiture  of  that  tradi 
tional  hilarity  which  ancient  observers  picture  to  have  found  in 
its  highest  exaltation  in  "  a  basket  of  chips  ;"  and  little  Agnes 
is  shooting  up  in  similitude  of  a  May  pole,  considerably  freckled 
and  rather  inclined,  I  should  suppose  from  looking  at  her,  to 
disorder  the  equilibrium  of  her  health  by  elongation— her  blood 
becoming  thin  by  the  length  of  the  tubes  through  which  it  is 
driven.  All  are  in  excellent  humor  at  our  coming,  mingled 
with  regrets  that  you  are  not  along  with  us.  They  take  comfort, 
however,  in  the  remark,  that  you  are  half  seas  over  and  have 
such  a  brilliant  full  moon  to  preside  over  the  good  counsel  they 
imagine  you  to  be  giving  to  Mrs.  W.  and  Miss  E.  after  night 
fall,  on  the  deck  of  the  Arago.  They  one  and  all  unite  with 
us  in  sending  you  greeting  and  good  wishes  for  your  success 
and  pleasant  experiences,  French  German  and  Dutch.  I  for 
got  to  tell  you  how  Irving  came  to  be  separated  from  us  when  we 
took  leave  of  you  on  board  of  the  Arago.  We  found  him  on 
the  wharf  in  something  of  a  fret.  When  I  asked  him  how  it 
happened  that  he  lost  us ;  he  said,  "  I  tried  to  follow  you 
through  the  crowd,  but  there  was  such  a  pack  of  fools  I  could 
not  get  on.  I  was  accidently  kissed  by  three  women  who  each 
mistook  me  for  a  friend,  so  I  hurried  back  over  the  plank  to 
the  wharf  in  despair."  At  the  last  moment  he  made  an  effort 
to  return  on  board  to  say  good-by,  but  it  was  to  late.  Lizzie 


ELLICOTT  S    MILLS. 


143 


and  I,  who  are  both  here  in  the  library,  send  you  all  manner 
of  love  and  good  wishes  for  a  pleasant  time,  till  we  see  you.  So 

dear  Mart,  God  bless  you  ! 

Yours  ever, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 
To  Miss  M.  E.  GRAY— PARIS. 

In  the  summer  of  1868  a  terrible  freshet,  unequalled  in  its 
sudden  irruption  and  devasting  course,  burst  over  the  valley, 
swept  away  massive  stone  walls,  bridges  and  dwellings,  and 
changed  the  whole  aspect  of  the  scene.  In  consequence  of  a 
bend  in  the  river  Mr.  Gray's  mill  escaped  destruction,  as  far  as 
the  edifice  was  concerned,  but  its  machinery  and  surroundings 
were  submerged  and  ruined,  and  more  than  half  of  the  dwel 
ling-houses  and  all  the  choice  trees  were  carried  off,  leaving  a 
debris  of  stones  and  slime  where  once  the  garden  bloomed. 
A  more  striking  and  painful  contrast  cannot  be  imagined  than 
that  presented  by  photographs  of  the  scenery  before  and  after 

the  flood. 

Mr.  Kennedy  thus  alludes,  in  his  journal,  to  his  first  visit 
there  after  their  return  from  Europe  : 

"BALTIMORE,  Nov.  4th,  1868.— I  propose  a  visit  to  the 
mills—the  day  is  fine  and  E.  consents.  We  take  the  horse- 
cars  at  eleven,  reach  Catonsville  at  twelve,— where  I  delivered 
my  vote  for  Grant  and  Colfax,— and  then  walk  to  my  brother 
Anthony's  at  Ellerslie— a  mile  and  a  half  off.  We  spend  an 
hour  with  the  family  and  they  send  us  in  their  carriage  to  our 
house.  Here  we  witness  the  terrible  desolation  of  the  great 
flood  of  last  July.  Every  tree  and  shrub,  the  conservatory,  the 
fences,  the  out-buildings  are  all  swept  away.  A  great  part  of 
the  dwelling-house  is  in  ruins,  a  deposit  of  three  or  four  feet 
of  white  sand  spread  over  the  grass-plots  ;  quantities  of  stone 
brought  down  the  river  from  the  mills  destroyed  above,  strewed 
over  this  deposit ;  the  porches  carried  away ;  my  library  en 
tirely  taken  off,  leaving  lib  vestige  of  books,  prints,  busts  and 
other  articles  with  which  it  was  furnished ;  the  Factory  shock 
ingly  injured,  requiring  some  fifty  thousand  dollars  of  repairs ; 


144  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

Mr.  Bone's  (the  manager)  house  lifted  up  from  its  foundation 
and  borne  bodily  away  upon  the  floods  !  The  devastation  has 
so  completely  altered  the  aspect  of  the  place  that  I  should  not 
know  it.  After  an  hour  here  we  drive  up  to  the  village ; — 
the  same  kind  of  ruin  is  visible  all  the  way.  It  has  been  an 
overwhelming  affliction  to  many  families  here.  The  loss  of 
life  extended  to  forty-two  persons.  It  was  very  sad  to  us  to 
see  our  old  home  and  all  that  rural  scene  of  content  and 
happy  abodes  which  the  valley  presented  when  we  left  it,  to 
make  our  visit  across  the  Atlantic,  so  disastrously  changed." 

The  associations  became  too  painful  for  the  survivors  of  that 
happy  household  to  resume  their  abode  in  the  changed  and, 
to  their  hearts,  desolate  home  ;  the  mill  was  repaired  at  great 
expense  and  the  remaining  section  of  the  house  renovated  ;  it 
is  now  occupied  by  their  agent. 

In  this  charming  suburban  retreat  Mr.  Kennedy  passed 
some  of  his  happiest  days ;  there  he  read  and  wrote  undis 
turbed  ;  every  picturesque  haunt  in  the  vicinity  was  familiar  to 
him ;  the  windows  of  his  library  commanded  a  lovely  view  of 
the  woods  and  hills ;  and  the  whole  scene  was  endeared  by 
the  memory  of  select  companionship  and  genial  seclusion. 
Here,  too,  his  most  intimate  political  friends  resorted  from 
Washington  to  pass  a  few  days  of  tranquil  leisure.  "  Our  friend 
Irving  has  come  here,"  writes  Mr.  Kennedy,  "  as  to  a  Castle 
of  Indolence,  to  get  rid  of  work  and  to  seduce  me  into,  a  moun 
tain  foray  into  Virginia."  His  guest's  own  impressions  of  and 
associations  with  the  place,  are  indicated  in  one  of  his  letters  : 
alluding  to  some  of  his  friend's  "  improvements,"  Mr.  Irving' 
writes  to  Mrs.  Kennedy,  "  I  envy  K.  the  job  of  building  that 
tower  if  he  has  half  the  relish  for  castle-building  that  I  have 
—air  castles  or  any  other.  I  should  like  nothing  better  than 
to  have  plenty  of  money  to  squander  on  stone  and  mortar  and 
to  build  chuteaus  along  the  beautiful  Patapsco  with  the  stone 
that  abounds  there ;  but  I  would  first  blow  up  the  cotton-mills 
(your  father's  among  the  number)  and  make  picturesque  ruins 
of  them  ;  and  I  would  utterly  destroy  the  railroad,  and  all  the 


ELLICOTT'S  MILLS.  145 

cotton  lords  should  live  in  baronial  castles  on  the  cliff;  and 
the  cotton  spinners  should  be  virtuous  peasantry  of  both  sexes, 
in  silk  skirts  and  small-clothes  and  straw  hats  with  long  ribbons, 
and  should  do  nothing  but  sing  songs  and  choruses  and  dance 
on  the  margin  of  the  river." 

And  writing  thence  when  on  a  visit,to  his  favorite  niece,  Mr. 
Irving  says  :  "  The  evening  passed  delightfully :  we  sat  out  in 
the  moonlight  on  the  piazza,  and  strolled  along  the  banks  of 
the  Patapsco  ;  after  which  I  went  to  bed,  had  a  sweet  night's 
sleep,  and  dreamt  I  was  in  Mahomet's  Paradise." 
7 


146  LIFE  OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  Swallow  Barn ;"  Its  Publication  ;  The  Class  of  Writings  to  which  it 
Belongs  ;  Its  Plan,  Style  and  Significance ;  State  of  American  Lit 
erature  at  the  Time  of  its  Appearance ;  Discouragement  Thereto ; 
Its  Reception ;  Success;  Subject;  Republication  and  Illustration. 

BETWEEN  the  literature  of  power  and  that  of  knowledge, 
so  justly  denned  by  DeQuincey,  there  is  a  table-land 
singularly  congenial  to  those  harmonious  minds  of  which  taste 
and  truth  are  the  prevalent  characteristics.  It  is  in  this 
sphere  that  the  household  authors  of  our  language  hold  a  per 
manent  and  benign  sway.  Equally,  removed  from  pedantry 
on  the  one  hand  and  extravagance  on  the  other,  this  class  of 
writers  are  characterized  by  good  sense  and  pure  sentiment, 
by  a  love  of  nature  and  a  spirit  of  tranquil  and  gracious  sym 
pathy  akin  to  what  is  best  in  social  life.  Indeed  it  is  a  certain 
social  tie  and  candor  which  make  the  charm  of  these  authors ; 
they  are  companionable  and  suggestive  •  they  reflect  life  in  its 
average  and  normal  aspects;  they  inculcate  wisdom  with 
pleasant  humor  and  describe  manners  with  graceful  authentic 
ity  ;  literature  with  them  is  rather  the  overflowing  of  the  mind 
than  what  Montaigne  calls  forging  its  products ;  that  pioneer 
essayist  was  the  founder  of  this  order  of  books  ;  he  first 
brought  knowledge,  criticism  and  individual  experience  into 
colloquial  vogue  as  written  thought,  and  made  what  was  once 
the  monopoly  of  scholars  the  privilege  of  all  mankind.  And 
although  we  find  somewhat  of  the  same  quiet  finish  and  salu 
brious  flavor  in  English  writers  of  the  Elizabethan  period,  yet 
social  literature  first  bloomed  auspiciously  in  the  days  of  Queen 
Anne  ;  and  was  fairly  initiated  by  Addison  and  Steele.  Half 


"SWALLOW  BARN."  147 

a  century  ago  these  authors  and  their  followers  were  the  ideals 
of  disciplined  and  aspiring  youth  with  a  keen  love  of  letters. 
To  write  with  ease,  grace  and  purity,  with  good  sense,  patient 
humor  and  a  sympathetic  charm,  and,  to  describe  nature  and 
life  with  truth  and  spirit,  and  in  good  English,  were  the  in 
stinctive  aims  of  well-balanced  minds  familiar  with  these  do 
mestic  favorites.  Since  then  popular  taste  has  undergone  a 
great  change ;  much  of  the  kind  of  writing  then  in  vogue,  is 
deemed  tame,  or,  in  the  slang  of  the  day— slow;  to  produce  a 
sensation  is  now  the  essential  of  success,  no  matter  by  what 
sacrifice  of  truth  or  through  what  abuses  of  the  vernacular ; 
and  yet  when,  in  the  quietude  of  thought,  in  the  retirement  of 
intellectual  integrity,  we  seek  to  refresh  and  inform,  to  har 
monize  and  cheer  our  jaded  minds  and  fevered  imaginations 
with  sound  sense,  honest  observation  and  genial  converse, 
these  neglected  "  wells  of  English  undefiled"  are  our  best  re 
source. 

Our  own  pioneer  author  was  a  faithful  disciple  of  the  writ 
ers  of  Queen  Anne's  day ;  his  first  experiment  was  after  the 
manner  of  the  Spectator,  and  the  "  Sketch  Book"  and  "  Brace- 
bridge  Hall"  were  but  elaborations  of  the  same  precedent. 
It  was,  therefore,  quite  natural  that  one  of  his  earliest  admir 
ers  and  latest  personal  friends,  when,  in  the  prime  of  his  life, 
and  after  securing  the  means  whereby  freedom  from  care  and 
toil  was  obtained,  he  turned  to  literature,  after  trying  his  hand 
in  the  desultory  work  of  a  humorous  serial,  and  contributing, 
as  occasion  suggested,  to  current  journalism,  he  should  adopt 
the  form  and  emulate  the  spirit  which  habit  made  attractive 
to  his  mind  and  success  had  rendered  familiar  to  the  public. 
In  attempting  to  delineate  the  manners,  describe  the  scenery 
and  embody  the  country  life  of  Virginia,  Mr.  Kennedy  had 
the  advantage  of  thorough  knowledge  of  and  sympathetic  re 
lations  with  his  subject.  Some  of  the  most  delightful  exper 
iences  of  his  youth  were  associated  with  the  Old  Dominion, 
dear  to  him  as  the  abode  of  cherished  kindred  and  the  scene 
where  he  first  leained  to  love  and  explore  nature  ;  and  realize 


1-tS  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

all  the  comfort  and  grace  of  generous  hospitality  and  genuine 
companionship.  We  can  easily  imagine  the  new  zest  im 
parted  to  such  reminiscences  when  pondered  from  the  vantage- 
ground  of  mature  age,  after  a  long  interval  of  professional 
work  ;  we  can  understand  the  affectionate  patience  with  which 
he  gathers  up  every  detail  of  that  free,  frank  and  cheerful  hol 
iday,  and  the  interest  every  incident  of  family  life  and  salient 
trait  of  character,  thus  acquired  in  the  retrospect.  In  "  Swal 
low  Barn"  is  portrayed  a  singularly  authentic  and  elaborate 
picture  of  the  scenery,  the  domestic  manners  and  the  rural 
life  of  Virginia  soon  after  the  close  of  the  Revolutionary  War. 
There  is  in  the  ease,  conversational  tone,  artistic  description 
and  quiet  humor  of  the  work,  the  same  gentle  attraction  and 
pleasing  fidelity  which  charm  us  in  "  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley" 
and  "  Bracebridge  Hall ;"  but  while  thus  analogous  to  these 
memorable  pictures  of  English  life  in  form  and  spirit,  the  scope, 
scene,  traits  and  tones  are  absolutely  local,  drawn  from  and 
inspired  by  the  landscape,  domestic  interiors,  familiar  talk  and 
country  pastimes  on  the  banks  of  the  James,  seventy  years  ago. 
No  fact  or  fancy  illustrative  of  the  region  escapes  the  author. 
He  delineates  the  still  life,  he  sketches  the  scenery,  gives  us 
vivid  portraits,  and,  with  the  most  distinct  outlines,  harmonizes 
the  picture  with  a  certain  genial  atmosphere  and  personal 
magnetism.  The  swamps  and  the  superstitions,  the  delicious 
summer  mornings,  the  woodcraft,  the  county  court  and  the 
plantation  dinner,  the  table  wisdom  and  the  family  mirth,  the 
freedom,  hospitality,  provincialism,  pride,  wit,  purity,  honor, 
improvidence,  gentility  and  vagabondage,  citizenship  and  serf 
dom,  rhetoric,  egotism,  kindliness,  horsemanship,  conviviality, 
speculation,  politics,  humors,  loves  and  loyalty — every  fact, 
trait  and  tendency  which  constitute  the  experience  and  eluci 
date  the  life  then  and  there,  are  noted  with  tact ;  -sometimes  the 
pictures  are  elaborately  finished,  as  in  the  description  of  the 
old  homestead  or  of  an  opposum  hunt  by  moonlight ;  some 
of  the  portraits  are  carefully  detailed,  as  that  of  the  Virginia 
country  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  the  political  phiiosopher, 


U9 

the  country  lawyer,  the  spinster,  the  romantic,  the  eccentric, 
convivial,  sentimental,  pragmatical,  hoydenish,  modest,  oracu 
lar  and  mirthful  characters,  whose  peculiarities  have  such  re 
lief  in  an  isolated  neighborhood  and  in  the  glow  and  light  of 
long  intimacy.  A  law  and  a  love  suit  are  detailed  with  minute 
and  curious  zest ;  an  old  mill  makes  a  picturesque  landmark 
in  the  narrative  ;  there  is  an  admirable  portrait  of  a  faithful 
and  spoiled  old  negro,  and  charming  ones  of  fresh,  frank  and 
proud  maidens  and  quaint  ones  of  crochety  and  chivalric  old 
men  and  genial  lords  of  the  manor  ;  while  the  rides  and  the 
romps,  the  discussions  and  the  harmless  coquetry,  the  feasts 
and  the  excursions,  the  dogs,  trees  and  birds,  the  pranks  and 
eclogues,  the  prudery  and  the  pretension,  the  affection  and  the 
humor — make  up  a  living  local  picture  which  informs  and 
amuses  in  equal  proportion.  As  a  record  it  is  all  the  better 
for  not  being  a  novel,  since  the  author  has  escaped  the  temp 
tation  to  embelish  and  exaggerate  almost  unavoidable  in  fic 
tion.  Such  faithful  contributions  to  social  history  have  a  per 
manent  value  ;  they  conserve  the  features  and  phases  of  life 
and  afford  materials  for  the  future  annalist  and  artist ;  to  write 
his  history  of  England  Macaulay  resorted  to  the  Parson  of 
Fielding  and  the  pictures  of  manners  drawn  by  Addison  and 
Steele  ;  and  to  the  same  source  Thackeray  owes  the  most  au 
thentic  touches  in  his  social  tableaux  of  the  same  period. 
However  the  public  taste  may  have  outgrown  or  more  proba 
bly  degenerated  from,  a  taste  for  quiet  and  truthful  illustrations 
of  life,  the  artistic  process  of  minute  and  patient  delineation 
adopted  by  Mr.  Kennedy  in  "  Swallow  Barn,"  is  identical  with 
that  which  preserves  to  us  so  vividly  the  country  life  of  Eng 
land  in  Jane  Austen's  day  and  the  ecclesiastical  of  our  own 
as  photographed  by  Trollope. 

The  desirableness  of  conserving  the  social  spirit  of  the  past 
and  the  individualism  of  more  primitive  times,  is  acknowledged 
by  all  liberal  critics,  and  constitutes,  in  fact,  the  permanent 
worth  of  artistic  fiction.  A  writer  comparing  the  present  with 
the  past  in  a  critical  estimate  of  "  Swallow  Barn,''  remarks : 


1  50  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

"  We  are  philosophical  all,  and  are  given  to  turn  thought  back 
upon  itself  and  analyze  ourselves  for  amusement.  Is  the 
heart  of  our  people  wanned  through  and  through  as  then  ? 
Then  men  gathered  worthy  of  the  name,  daring  in  thought, 
strong  in  action,  faithful  in  friendship.  They  brought  alike  to 
the  work  and  play  of  life,  the  appetite  of  a  vigorous  constitu 
tion.  We  sentimentalize  where  they  felt  ;  we  have  grown  too 
languid  or  too  wise  for  pleasure  ;  we  are  so  conscious  that  we 
forget  ourselves,  lose  ourselves,  give  ourselves  up  to  nothing. 
And  when  we  go  into  society  it  is  with  a  knife  in  one  hand  and 
a  microscrope  in  the  other,  to  anatomize  and  expose  each  oth 
er.  How  much  of  moodiness,  vanity  and  self-exhibition  !"* 

Already  the  latent  significance  of  the  picture  comes  forth  un 
der  the  inspiration  of  subsequent  history.  In  the  local  self-im 
portance  and  the  limited  views  of  political  issues  incident  to 
isolated  life  and  narrow  experience,  as  here  traced  in  the  hon 
est  but  prejudiced  country  gentleman  of  Virginia,  we  recognize 
the  origin  of  that  exaggerated  estimate  of  State  rights  and  that 
insensibility  to  national  interests,  which,  in  the  last  analysis, 
originated  the  fatal  doctrines  of  secession  destined  to  culumi- 
nate  in  civil  war.  On  the  other  hand,  the  same  pleasant  and 
patient  record  gives  us  the  humane  side  of  slavery,  while  it  was 
yet  a  domestic  institution,  before  the  exigencies  of  cotton-cul 
ture  had  made  it  a  cruel  trade  in  human  flesh,  in  the  very  re 
gion  where  individual  kindness  and  family  affection  mitigated 
its  essential  injustice.  Hereafter,  to  the  philosopher  and  histo 
rian,  this  true  and  grateful  delineation  of  a  corrosive  social  evil, 
and  fundamental  civic  error,  will  explain,  in  no  small  degree,  a 
baneful  anomaly  and  counterbalance  more  prejudiced  and  pain 
ful  representations  of  the  blot  on  the  escutcheon  of  our  former 
•national  character. 

When  "  Swallow  barn"  first  appeared  few  vivid  and  faithful 
pictures  of  American  life  had  been  executed.  Paulding  had 
described  Dutch  colonial  life  in  New  York ;  Tudor  had  pub 
lished  Letters  from  New  England  ;  Flint  and  Hall  had  given  us 

"*  Southern  Quarterly  fievicw,  Jan.  1852. 


151 

graphic  sketches  of  the  West,  towards  which  virgin  domain  the 
tide  of  emigration  had  set ;  but,  with  the  exceptions  of  a  few 
impressive  and  finished  legendary  tales  from  the  then  unap 
preciated  pen  of  Hawthorne  and  the  genuine  American  novels 
—the  "  Spy"  and  "  Pioneer" — of  Cooper,  American  authorship 
had  scarcely  surveyed  far  less  invaded  the  rich  fields  of  local 
tradition  and  native  life.  Accordingly,  "  Swallow  Barn"  met 
with  a  prompt  and  cordial  reception  ;  emanating  from  a  man  of 
leisure  it  was  hailed  as  the  precursor  of  a  series  of  works  im 
bued  with  the  spirit  and  devoted  to  the  illustration  of  our  his 
tory,  scenery  and  manners.  It  was  welcomed  by  rare  critical 
appreciation.  "  The  style  of  '  Swallow  Barn,'  "  said  the  New 
York  Review,  "  is  polished  and  graceful ;  its  distinguishing  fea 
ture  is  its  pure  Americanism.  The  story  of  Abe  and  the  negro 
mother,  for  pathos  and  power,  is  not  surpassed  by  any  thing  that 
had  yet  appeared  in  the  literature  of  our  country."  "  This,"  re 
marked  the  North  American  Review,  then  in  its  palmy  days,  "  is 
a  work  of  great  merit  and  promise.  It  is  attributed  to  a  gen 
tleman  of  Baltimore,  already  advantageously  known  to  the  pub 
lic  by  several  productions  of  less  compass  and  various  styles. 
The  present  attempt  proves  that  he  combines,  with  the  talent 
and  spirit  he  had  previously  exhibited,  the  resources,  persever 
ance  and  industry  that  are  necessary  to  the  accomplishment  of 
extensive  works.  We  do  not  know  that  we  can  Better  express 
our  friendly  feelings  for  him  than  by  expressing  the  wish  that  the 
success  which  this  production  has  met  with,  may  induce  him  to 
withdraw  his  attention  from  other  objects  and  devote  himself 
entirely  to  the  elegant  pursuits  of  polite  literature,  for  which  his 
taste  and  talent  are  so  well  adapted  ;  and  in  which  the  demand 
for  labor — to  borrow  an  expression  from  a  science  to  which  he 
is  no  stranger — is  still  more  pressing  than  in  law,  political  econo 
my  arid  politics."  It  was  not  uncommon  in  those  days  of  our 
nascent  literature  for  patriotic  critics  thus  to  welcome  the  advent 
of  a  promising  writer.  A  glance  at  the  chronicles  of  Duyckinck 
and  Allibone  indicates  that  many  an  aspiring  youth  and  not  a  few 
mature  men,  hazarded  a  more  or  less  successful  venture  in  the 


LIFE    OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 

field  of  letters,  and,  after  being  greeted  as  having  auspiciously 
commenced  a  career  of  authorship,  retired  from  the  arena  to 
seek  subsistence  in  trade,  professional  work  or  journalism. 

The  elder  Dana,  in  prose  and  verse,  won  sympathy  and 
admiration;   but    found    too   little   encouragement   to   make 
literature  a  lucrative  pursuit.     For  twenty  years  Hawthorne 
wrote  with  grace  and  artistic  finish  and  deep  insight,  before 
his  pen  sufficed  to  earn  him  bread;  and  whatever  popular  suc 
cess  he  finally  achieved,  came  from  the  latest  fruits  of  his  charm 
ing  studies ;  Halleck  wrote  memorable  lyrics  while  a  merchant's 
clerk,  and  Drake  in  hours  snatched  from  medical  practice  ; 
Everett  delivered  eloquent  orations  amid  the  carefully  fulfilled 
duties  of  official  life ;    Charming  published  admirable  essays 
while  a  devoted  parish  minister ;  Bryant's  noble  poems  were 
written  in  the  lapses  of  earnest  editorial  work  on  a  daily  jour 
nal  ;  a  diplomat,  like  Wheaton,  found  time  to  prepare  a  History 
of   the  Northmen  ;    a  gifted  divine,  like  Buckminster,  made 
sermons  classical ;  a  lawyer  and  country  gentleman  like  Ver- 
planck,  charmed  the   town  with   an  elaborate  historical  'dis 
course  ;  Robert  Walsh  gave  critical  force  and  grace  to  the 
prosaic  columns  of  a  newspaper ;   Clay  or  Clinton  added  to 
political  efficiency  the  attraction    of  patriotic  rhetoric;   but 
Sparks  was  the  solitary  historic  purveyor,  exclusively  devoted 
to  his  task  ;  and  Hillhouse  embellished  a  life  of  cultured  retire 
ment  with  occasional  dramatic  and  academic  efforts,  remark 
able  for  their  purity  of  finish  and  purpose.     Thus,  literature, 
with  us,  was  casual ;  Irving  and  Cooper  were,  for  a  long  time,' 
our  only  professional  authors.     The  causes  of  this  discourage 
ment  in.  the  exclusive  pursuit  of  letters,  are  many  and  ob 
vious.     The  exigencies  of  political  life  are  paramount  in  our 
new  communities  ;  the  pecuniary  remuneration  in  authorship, 
proverbially  precarious,  is  more  so  in  a  country  where  the 
productions  of  the    mind    are    unprotected   by  international 
law,  and  where  the  needed  supply  of  reading  is  obtained  from, 
beyond  the  sea,  at  no  expense  but  that  invalued  in  the  manu 
facture  of  books.     If  our  publishers  were  obliged  to  look  at 


153 

home   for  material,  it  would  be   an  object  for  our  educated 
class  to  devote  to  literature  the  time  and  labor  they  now  give 
to  professions,  often  far  less  congenial  to  their  native  tastes  and 
abilities  than  authorship  ;  and  our  popular  reading  would  be 
imbued  with  a  native  zest  and  scope  eminently  conducive  to 
national  sentiment,  instead  of  being,  as  now,  the  medium  of 
foreign  precedents  in  manners,  politics  and  social  life,  alien  to 
our  institutions  and  prejudicial  to  the  integrity  and  purity  of 
republican  aspirations.     But  it  is  not  the  economical  necessities 
of  the  case  alone    that   limit   authorship  among  us;   public 
spirit  itself  beguiles  the  votaries  of  literature  into  politics  ; 
ambition   usually   tends    in   that   direction,   and   opportunity 
favors  it.     Thus  many  a  man,  destined  by  natural  gifts  to  a 
literary  career,  drifts  into  political  or  official  life.     Such  was 
the  case  with   the  author  of  "  Swallow   Barn,"  although  he, 
again  and  again,  returned  to  his  first  love,  and  never  ceased 
to  find  in  his  pen  and  his  books  the  most  congenial  resources. 
We  are  not  by  any  means  certain,  that  obstacles  to  success  in 
literature  peculiar  to  our   country,  are  not  blessings  in  dis-. 
guise;  doubtless  while  they  deprive  us  of  many  benign  minis- 
trants  at  the   shrines  of  nature,  of  truth  and  of  fancy,  they 
also  banish  mediocrity  into  less  perilous  paths,  where  failure 
is  not  so    lamentable  and  conspicuous.     Moreover,  there  is 
prevalent  an  exaggerated  estimate  of  literature,  as  such,  as 
well    as   a  lack    of  appreciation   of  its    possible  utility  and 
charm.      Authors  are  apt  to  be  absorbed  in  their  vocation, 
conscious  of  their  renown,  eager  for  success,  in  a  manner  and 
to  a  degree  prejudicial  to  manliness  and  social  integrity.     One 
of  the  peculiar  attractions  and  most  valuable  precedents  in 
the  life  and  character  of  Mr.  Kennedy  was  his  entire  superi 
ority  to  this   selfish  egotism.      Writing  was    to  him  what    a 
gifted  woman  loved  to  declare  it — "  the  surrogate  of  living." 
His  mind,  as  well  as  heart,  were  instinctively  cognizant  of  the 
superior  claims  of  social  duty ;  companionship  had  for  him  a 
claim  above  the  gratification  of  isolated  private  success ;  to 
make   others  happy  was   his  delight ;  to  enjoy  nature,  to  be 


154:  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

useful,  to  cheer,  inform  and  sympathize,  and  make  daily  life 
and  human  intercourse  grateful  and  inspiring,  was  to  him  the 
first  object.  Indeed,  what  is  most  characteristic  and  vital  in 
his  books,  is  social,  the  recognition  of  what  is  salient,  the  zest 
for  what  is  genial,  the  clevelopement  of  what  is  sympathetic ;  and 
those  intimately  acquainted  with  the  man,  find  his  most  person 
al  and  pleasing  traits  and  tone  reflected  in  the  author.  It  is 
ever  thus  with  adepts  in  social  as  distinct  from  scholastic 
literature,  which,  on  this  account,  is  more  endearing  and  au 
thentic  ;  and  becomes,  also,  from  that  cause,  the  most  desir 
able  memorial  of  life  and  character  when  both  are  hallowed 
by  death.  This  just  estimate  of  the  relation  of  letters  to  life, 
not  less  than  the  influence  of  circumstances,  made  Coleridge's 
maxim  a  practical  truth  to  Kennedy :  "  Let  literature  be  an 
honorable  augmentation  to  your  arms,  but  not  constitute  the 
coat  or  fill  the  escutcheon." 

The  following  letters  give  a  pleasant  idea  of  the  interest 
"  Swallow  Barn"  excited  on  its  first  appearance  : 

PHILADELPHIA,  CHRISTMAS,  1832. 
To  MRS.  KENNEDY. 

MY  DEAR  LIZZIE  : — The  joy  of  the  season  to  you !  and 
many,  many  happy  returns  of  it,  each  return,  even  in  a  ripe  and 
remote  old  age,  bringing  new  pleasures,  and  showing  you  in 
in  the  midst  of  those  you  love  best !  and  that  happiness,  as 
the  ballad  of  John  Gilpin  says,  "  may  I  be  there  to  see  !" 

To  night  I  go  to  Walsh's.  Last  night  I  was  at  a  great  po 
litical  (I  suspect)  supper  at  Josiah  Randall's.  Mr.  Clay  was 
the  lion  of  the  evening,  next  to  the  author  of  a  twopenny 
book.  Do  you  know  they  make  a  great  parade  here  about 
"  Swallow  Barn  ;"  and  everybody  who  is  introduced  to  me  forth 
with  begins  to  talk  of  Ned  Hazard,  Mike  Brown,  etc.  There 
were  divers  authors  last  night  who  seemed  to  think  it  right  to 
induct  me  into  the  honors  of  their  acquaintance,  especially 
he  of  S — ,  and  another  of  C. — ,  and  another  of  God  knows 
what — the  little  wits  of  this  great  Athens.  B — ,  the  moment  he 
was  .introduced,  said :  "  Well,  sir,  it's  a  great  thing  to  have  your 


155 

book  read  a  hundred  miles  from  home.          Now,  egad  sir,  they 

don't  read  mine  even  here."     A  gentleman  said  to  me "  I 

have  waded  through  it."  "  No,  sir,  that's  impossible,"  I  re 
plied— "it  is  out  of  your  depth,  my  good  friend,  you  got  over 
your  head."  I  think  I  had  him  there,  and  he  and  all  the  by 
standers — some  dozen — set  up  a  great  laugh. 

I  have  not  time  to  tell  you  all  the  nonsense  they  say  here, 
so  will  postpone  my  gossip  until  we  meet." 

™     T  BALTIMORE,  May  23,  1832. 

To  JOHN  P.  KENNEDY,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  :— If  you  should  chance  to  know  a  certain 
Mark  -  Littleton,  author  of  "  a  righte  merrie  and  conceited 
work/  called  "Swallow  Barn,"  which  is  occupying  all  the 
attention  that  can  be  spared  from  politics,  I  would  thank 
you  to  make  my  respects  and  acknowledgments  to  him  for 
a  handsome  copy  of  the  work,  and  the  well-turned  dedica 
tion  with  which  he  has  complimented  me.  He  mi^ht  have 
chosen _  a  patron  more  auspicious  for  himself,  but^no  one 
with  kinder  and  warmer  feelings  and  wishes  for  his  suc- 
Ihe  dedication  proves  his  ability  to  give  interest  to 
les.  With  regard  to  the  book  itself,  I  have  been  so  en 
gaged  as  to  have  been  able  to  make  but  little  progress  in  it 
But  so  far  as  I  have  read,  it  is  full  of  gayety  and  goodness 
f  heart  and  the  author  trips  it  along,  on  "light  fantastic 
:oe  with  all  imaginable  ease  and  grace.  The  characters  are 
well  sketched  and  grouped,  and  the  plan  as  well  as  the  inci 
dents  are  new  and  fresh  so  far  as  I  have  gone. 

But  I  have  read  too  little  of  it  to  play  the  critic  on  its 
merits.  The  object  of  this  note  is  simply  to  convey  my 
thanks  to  the  author,  without  delay,  for  the  present  of  the 
book  and  the  honor  of  the  dedication,  and  I  trouble  you  with 
this  agency,  because  of  the  on  dits  that  the  author  is  in  the  cir 
cle  of  your  acquaintance.  Good-night, 

WM.  WIRT. 

The  critic  already  quoted,  while  recognizing  the  merits  of 
these  sketches,  indicates  why  they  appeal  almost  exclusively  to 
that  class  of  readers  who  are  superior  to  the  blandishments 
of  the  marvellous  and  romantic  as  opposed  to  the  natural  and 
the  true  ;  their  value— he  tells  us  justly— "lies  in  the  truth  and 


156  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

spirit  with  which  the  purpose  is  effected ;  the  texture  of  the 
fable  is  natural  and  sufficiently  ingenious,  though,  from  the  na 
ture  of  the  plan,  it  does  not  excite  a  very  deep  or  strong  in 
terest."  Another  reviewer  thus  sums  up  the  attractions  of  the 
work :  "  The  love  of  nature,  the  fine  appreciation  of  a  coun 
try  life,  the  delicate  and  quiet  humor  and  hearty  joy  in  ev 
ery  one's  enjoyment,  which  those  who  know  Mr.  Kennedy  per 
sonally,  will  recognize  as  elements  in  his  own  character,  are 
reflected  in  the  pages  of  the  book." 

Perhaps  no  State  out  of  New  England  has  been  more  fre 
quently  illustrated  by  pen  and  pencil  than  Virginia;  the 
beauty  and  variety  of  her  scenery,  the  romance  of  her  history 
and  the  number  of  illustrious  men  to  which  she  has  given 
birth,  have  inspired  authors  and  artists  to  make  her  annals 
and  aspect  the  subject  of  their  delineation.  One  of  the  most 
quaint  and  primitive  colonial  reports  is  Captain  John  Smith's  • 
account  of  the  domain  named  for  the  virgin  queen  ;  one  of 
the  earliest  local  scientific  descriptions  emanating  from  a 
native  source,  were  the  "  Notes'  on  Virginia"  prepared  by  Jef 
ferson,  soon  after  the  revolution,  at  the  suggestion  of  the 
French  minister  to  the  United  States ;  one  of  the  first  books 
published  among  us,  which  united  to  finish  of  style,  elaborate 
and  graceful  description,  were  Wirt's  "Letters  of  a  British 
Spy ;"  Paulding  soon  after  gave  us  casual  glimpses  of  the  re 
sources  and  modes  of  life  in  the  Old  Dominion  ;  in  the  early 
chapters  of  his  "Life  of  Washington,"  Irving  goes  into  pleas 
ant  and  picturesque  details  of  the  hunting  and  hospitality  of 
the  landed  gentry  of  the  colonial  era,  as  illustrated  in  the 
home  and  habits  of  Lord  Fairfax  ;  James,  the  novelist,  during 
his  sojourn  in  this  country,  laid  the  scene  of  a  romance  in 
Virginia  at  the  period  of  Nat  Turner's  insurrection ;  Thacke 
ray  made  the  cavaliers  of  the  colony  the  heroes  of  one  of  his 
last  stories  ;  Moore  sung  of  the  Dismal  Swamp  ;  and  Mrs. 
Latimer,  ne'e  Wormley,  in  "  Our  Cousin  Veronica,"  drew  a 
lively  and  dramatic  picture  of  the  more  recent  social  life  of 
the  State.  "  Swallow  Barn"  differs  from  all  these  in  a  certain 


157 

unity  of  design  and  strictness  of  portraiture  ;  in  its  pages  fact 
and  fancy  are  kept  consistently  apart ;  truth  to  local  traits  is 
adhered  to ;  there  is  no  exaggeration  in  the  incidents,  no  con 
ventionalism  in  the  style  •  rural  life  is  described  with  relish, 
but  neither  the  improvidence  nor  the  self-importance,  the  nar 
row  experience  or  the  convivial  habits  incident  to  the  state  of 
society,  are  disguised  or  palliated ;  but  the  sense  of  honor,  the 
purity  and  peacefulness  of  domestic  life,  the  amenities  of  hos 
pitality  and  the  charm  of  generous  and  genial  character,  give 
a  grace  and  glow  to  the  family  annals ;  while  their  environ 
ment  is  sketched  with  Flemish  exactitude.  Frank  Meri- 
wether,  the  prosperous  Virginia  country  gentleman  and  justice 
of  the  peace ;  his  wife  the  assiduous  queen  of  the  household ; 
his  mischievous  and  amusing  son  Rip ;  his  venerable  house 
keeper  and  spinster  sister  Prudence  ;  the  Presbyterian  tutor, 
the  pragmatical  old  negro  Carey;  the  humorous,  hearty,  in 
genuous  Ned  Hazard,  the  neighboring  family  at  "  the  Brakes  ;" 
spirited  and  fastidious  but  gay  and  handsome  Bel  Tracy,  with 
a  genuine  Virginia  lawyer,  old  beau,  and  many  subordinate 
characters,  are  depicted  after  the  manner  of  that  memorable 
episode  in  the  Spectator ;  which  yet  serves  as  the  authentic 
portrait  of  the  old  English  country  gentlemen  :  and  these  peo 
ple  so  act  and  talk  "  as  to  exhibit  the  rural  life  of  Virginia  im 
mediately  subsequent  to  the  revolution."  There  is  nothing 
very  exciting  in  such  a  programme  or  very  impressive  in  the 
execution ;  but  there  is  geniality,  liveliness  and  grace  ;  there 
is  artistic  truth  in  the  details  ;  the  author's  method  and  style 
are  in  harmony  with  his  subject,  and  he  excels  both  in  descrip 
tion  and  narrative  ;  so  that  "  Swallow  Barn,"  like  a  series  of 
genuine  letters  communicating  all  the  daily  routine,  talk,  inci 
dents,  fancy,  fun  and  sentiment  of  a  household,  and  doing 
this  cleverly  and  winsomely — serves  not  only  for  immediate 
enjoyment — proportioned,  in  each  reader,  to  his  or  her  inter 
est  in  the  scene  and  life  described — but  also  as  a  pleasing  and 
permanent  memorial  of  a  phase  of  American  life  forever  past, 
yet  of  lasting  significance ;  and  all  the  more  interesting  and 


158  LIFE    OF    JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

endeared  because  between  its  calm  and  gracious  features  and 
our  time,  has  intervened  a  sanguinary  conflict,  whose  land 
marks — desolated  tracts,  innumerable  graves  and  levelled  for 
ests,  now  mark  the  region  where  its  peaceful  life-drama  was 
before  enacted — thus  making  its  pictures  more  mellow  by  the 
long  vista  which  such  terrible  events  lend  to  the  apparent 
lapse  of  time.  Twenty  years  after  "  Swallow  Barn"  was  pub 
lished,  and  long  after  it  was  out  of  print,  a  new  edition  was  is 
sued  with  very  expressive  illustrations  by  Strother  -}  and  in 
his  "  word  in  advance  to  the  reader,"  the  author  thus  speaks 
of  his  work :  "  Its  republication  has  been  so  often  advised  by 
my  friends,  and  its  original  reception  was  so  prosperous,  that  I 
have  almost  felt  it  to  be  a  duty  once  more  to  set  it  afloat  for 
the  behoof  of  that  good-natured  company  of  idle  readers  who 
are  always  ready  to  embark  on  a  pleasure  excursion,  in  any 
light  craft  that  offers.  '  Swallow  Barn'  exhibits  a  picture  of 
country  life  in  Virginia,  as  it  existed  in  the  first  quarter  of  the 
present  century.  Between  that  time  and  the  present  age,  time 
and  what  is  called  "  progress"  have  made  many  innovations 
there  as  they  have  done  everywhere  else.  The  Old  Domin 
ion  is  losing  somewhat  of  the  raciness  of  her  once  peculiar 
and — speaking  with  reference  to  the  locality  described  in  these 
volumes — insulated  cast  of  manners.  The  mellow,  bland  and 
sunny  luxuriances  of  her  home  society — its  good-fellowship, 
its  hearty  and  constitutional  companionableness,  the  thriftless 
gayety  of  the  people,  their  dogged  but  amiable  invincibility  of 
opinion  and  that  overflowing  hospitality  that  knew  no  ebb — 
these  traits,  though  far  from  being  impaired,  are  modified  at 
the  present  day,  by  circumstances  which  have  been  gradually 
attaining  a  marked  influence  over  social  life  as  well  as  politi 
cal  condition.  An  observer  cannot  fail  to  note  that  the  man 
ners  of  our  country  have  been  tending  towards  a  uniformity, 
which  is  visibly  effacing  all  local  differences.  The  old  States 
especially  are  losing  their  exclusive  American  character.  The 
country  now  apes  the  city  in  what  we  suppose  to  be  the  ele 
gancies  of  life  ;  and  the  city  is  inclined  to  adopt  the  fashions 


"SWALLOW  BARN/'  159 

it  is  able  to  import  across  the  Atlantic  ;  and  thus  the  whole  sur 
face  of-  society  is  exhibiting  the  traces  of  a  process  by  which 
it  is  likely  to  be  rubbed  down,  in  time,  to  a  level  and  varnished 
with  the  same  gloss.  The  fruitfulness  of  modern  invention 
in  the  arts  of  life,  the  general  fusion  of  thought  through 
the  medium  of  an  extra-territorial  literature,  which,  from  its 
easy  domestication  among  us,  is  hardly  regarded  as  foreign, 
—all  these,  aided  and  diffused  by  our  extraordinary  facilities 
of  travel  and  circulation,  have  made  sad  work,  even  in  the 
present  generation,  with  those  old  nationalisms  that  were  so 
agreeable  to  the  contemplation  of  an  admirer  of  the  pictur 
esque  in  character  and  manners.  Looking  myself  somewhat 
hopelessly  upon  the  onward  gliding  of  the  stream,  I  am  un 
willing  to  allow  these  sketches  of  mine  to  pass  away.  They 
have  already  began  to  assume  the  tints  of  a  relic  of  the  past." 
Since  this  was  written  circumstances  and  time  have  but  em 
phasized  these  considerations.  To  the  last  Mr.  Kennedy 
cherished  a  strong  interest  in  the  State  whose  social  life  he  had 
portrayed  and  an  earnest  faith  in  her  future.  "  Swallow  Barn" 
was  republished  in  1851,  twenty  years  after  its  first  appear 
ance;  and  under  date  of  New  York,  October  nth,  of  that 
year,  Mr.  Kennedy  writes  :  "  I  go  to  Putnam's.  He  tells  me 
'Swallow  Barn'  is  remarkably  well  received;  no  book,  he 
says,  reproduced,  after  a  lapse  of  time,  has  done  better  than 
this." 

Dr.  Bethune,  a  man  who  thoroughly  enjoyed  and  carefully 
observed  nature  and  life,  said  of  "Swallow  Barn"  that  it  was 
the  best  book  of  the  kind  which  had  appeared  from  an  Amer 
ican  source.  It  was  translated  into  Swedish  and  published  at 
Stockholm.  Among  the  mountains  of  Virginia  it  found  stanch 
admirers  ;  and  I  have  been  assured  by  readers  who  have  lived 
in  the  Old  Dominion,  and  their  fathers  before  them,  that  the  mi 
nute  accuracy  of  the  picture  and  its  consequent  local  interest, 
cannot  be  appreciated  except  by  those  acquainted  with  the 
scenes  described.  It  differs  from  similar  literary  experiments  in 
the  objective  aim  and  method  of  the  author,  who  never  attempts 


ICO  LIFE   OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

to  introduce  his  personal  idiosyncrasies  or  to  invent  extra 
neous  material,  but  strives  simply  to  report  the  facts  of  scenery, 
society,  manners  and  traits  ;  the  permanent  worth  of  such  rec 
ords  is  owing  to  their  truth  ;  we  gratify  our  imagination  by 
communion  with  the  travels  of  Sterne  and  Beekford ;  but  we 
gain  veritable  and  vivid  glimpses  of  the  actual  past  of  France 
and  America  in  the  pages  of  Arthur  Young  and  Mrs.  Grant 
Frank  Mayer  executed  an  effective  sketch  of  the  night  scene 
in  "  Swallow  Barn  ;"  "  Meriwether  and  Parson  Chub  asleep 
over  their  studies."  The  illustrations  by  Strother  are  excellent, 
and  suggest  the  artistic  treatment  in  which  the  author  excelled, 
by  furnishing  such  graphic  pictures  of  real  life,  to  the  ready 
pencil  of  one  to  whom  Virginia  was  as  favorite  and  familiar  a 
theme  as  to  himself.* 

*  The  subjects  of  these  illustrations  are  as  follows :  "  The  arrival  of 
Mark  Littleton  with  Scipio  at '  Swallow  Barn/  "  "  Frank  Meriwether 
and  Parson  Chubb  in  the  Library."  "  Ned  Hazard  and  Mark  surprised 
by  Bel  Tracy—'  Bel  Tracy  against  the  field.' "  "  Mike  Brown  and 
the  Goblin  Swamp."  "  Stable  Wisdom."  "  Carey  disputing  a  point 
with  Frank  Meriwether."  "  The  wet  day  at  '  Swallow  Barn.'  "  "  Phil- 
pot  went  riding  the  Circuit  with  his  hounds."  "  The  Fourth  of  July 
on  the  River."  "  The  party  leaving  '  Swallow  Barn'  in  the  morning 
for  the  Trial."  "  Frank  Meriwether  arguing  the  Mill  question  with 
Mr.  Tracy."  "  The  party  arriving  at  the  Brakes."  "  Old  Jupiter 
the  King  of  the  Quarter."  "  The  Mythologies  explained  by  Parson 
Chubb  to  Bel  Tracy— Ned  and  Harvey  listening." 


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K«nneiy:      Pr«=t'ace   to   Horse-  Shoe  Robinson1  revised    ed.  1851. 


NOVELS.  161 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Novels ;  Horse-Shoe  Robinson  ;  Its  Scope  and  Aim  ;  Its  Hero  ;  Moral  ; 
Criticism ;  Its  Success. 

EPHEMERAL  as  the  current  average  novel  proverbially 
is,  the  Historical  Romance,  when  studiously  true  to  the 
facts  of  the  Past  and  made  vital  by  sympathetic  unity  of  concep 
tion,  has  a  permanent  value  and  interest.  Long  after  the  nov 
elty  of  the  Waverley  romances  had  passed,  Scotland  was  and  is 
peopled  to  the  heart  by  their  traditional  heroes  ;  and  the 
intelligent  sojourner  in  Florence,  who  would  realize  her  medi 
aeval  life,  turns  fondly  to  the  authentic  and  artistic  pages  of 
Guerazzi,  D'Azeglio  and  Rosin?.  The  fame  of  Cooper,  who 
was  our  pioneer  in  this  attractive  branch  of  popular  literature, 
had  scarcely  dawned,  while  Hawthorne's  was  yet  nascent,  when 
Mr.  Kennedy  produced  a  genuine  and  effective  work  which 
has  taken  its  place  in  the  brief  but  creditable  list  of  standard 
American  fictions.  The  story  opens  with  the  triumph  of  the 
British  arms  at  the  South  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution  and 
closes  with  the  battle  of  King's  Mountain,  when  the  tide  of 
victory  turned  in  favor  of  the  patriots.  The  wanderings  of  an 
American  major,  his  captivity  and  escapes,  with  the  hazardous 
pilgrimage  through  a  region  "tainted  with  disaffection,"  of  his 
wife  and  her  chivalrous  attendants,  bring  into  view  all  the  forms 
and  phases  of  civil  war  in  its  most  noble  as  well  as  inhu 
man  development,  associated,.by  the  graphic  pen  of  the  author, 
with  the  local  accessories  and  natural  phenomena  that  give  re 
ality  to  the  scenes  and  situations. 

Thus    Mr.    Kennedy's    next   literary   venture   was   more 
substantial  in  construction ;  in  "  Swallow  Barn"  he  had  sue- 


162  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

cessfully  tried  his  hand  at  descriptive  writing,  giving  the  results 
of  patient  observation,  without,  however,  moulding  the  materi 
als  into  a  regular  story,  but  using  a  slight  thread  of  narrative 
whereon  to  exhibit  many  scenes  of  real  life  and  rural  nature. 
The  style  of  these  sketches  was  at  once  facile,  humorous  and 
unambitious,  and  inevitably  suggested  the  American  "  Sketch 
Book"  and  the  old  English  Spectator ;  but  in  his  new  experi 
ment  the  author  undertook  to  illustrate  historical  events  and 
embody  local  character,  while  both  were  developed  according 
to  the  popular  precedents  of  modern  romantic  fiction.  Ac 
cordingly,  not  only  the  form  but  the  style  adopted,  were  more 
original  and  so  ably  used  as  fully  to  justify  the  favoraWe  proph 
ecies  of  the  critics  founded  on  his  preceding  work.  The  sub 
ject  and  scene  of  his  tale  were  fresh  and  comparatively  little 
known  except  to  historical  students.  He  aimed  to  describe 
the  peculiar  and  adventurous  phase  of  our  revolutionary  war 
incident  to  a  region  where  public  sentiment  was  divided  on  the 
great  issues  of  the  conflict ;  where  all  the  fierce  antagonism 
and  the  dramatic  vicissitudes  of  border  warfare  prevailed  ;  and 
life  as  well  as  opinion,  in  a  thinly  settled  district,  were  exposed 
to  constant  attack.  The  story  opens  at  the  most  critical  peri 
od  of  the  war  at  the  South,  when  Charleston  had  been  captured 
by  Clinton  ;  when  foraging  parties  of  both  armies  ravaged 
the  neutral  district ;  and  the  bitterness  of  partisan  animosity 
was  increased  by  the  feuds  of  neighborhood  and  the  cruelties 
of  reckless  adventurers.  The  events  recorded  culminate  both 
in  significance  and  interest,  in  the  darkest  hour  of  the  patriotic 
struggle,  when  the  surrender  of  Gates  and  the  advance  north 
ward  of  Cornwallis,  had  inflamed  the  arrogant  vinclictiveness 
of  the  Tories  and  nerved  the  heroic  republicans  to  stern 
and  earnest  coalition.  Upon  this  historical  background^  the 
personages  of  the  story  are  delineated  with  careful  reference 
to  local  facts  ;  each  prominent  class  of  the  people  is  represent 
ed;  the  manorial  gentleman  of  studious  tastes  domestic  hab 
its  and  conservative  pride  ;  the  woodman,  hunter,  frontier  set 
tler,  a  Presbyterian  miller,  an  intriguing  loyalist,  British  officers, 


163 

patriot  militia,  a  rustic  maiden,  a  lady  of  the  manor,  brutal  sol 
diery,  chivalric  leaders — each  and  all  of  the  heterogeneous  and 
conflicting,  as  well  as  characteristic  social  elements  of  the  coun 
try  and  the  era.  The  scenes  are  authentic  as  well  as  pictu 
resque  :  we  have  vivid  glimpses  into  the  woodland  camps  of  Ma 
rion  ;  we  follow  the  bold  and  swift  raid  of  Sumter ;  we  witness  the 
ravages  of  the  isolated  troopers  of  Tarleton  ;  the  glare  of  the 
burning  farm- house  ;  the  drunken  revelry  of  the  bivouack  ;  the 
solemn  funeral  of  the  martyred  patriot  in  the  forest ;  the  escape 
of  the  prisoner  of  war ;  the  grief  of  the  bereft,  the  terror  of  the 
captive,  the  exultation  of  the  victors ;  the  suspense,  privation, 
weariness,  hope  and  despair  born  of  civil  war.  But  these  and 
such  as  these  traits  belong  to  the  military  nove/  as  such,  and 
though  skilfully  used  by  Mr.  Kennedy,  do  not,  of  themselves, 
account  for  the  merit  and  popularity  of  his  tale  of  the  Tory 
Ascendancy  in  Carolina.  These  are  owing  to  two  advantages 
he  eminently  possessed— descriptive  talent,  emphasized  in  this 
instance,  by  early  familiarity  with  the  country  where  the  scene 
is  laid  ;  and  a  central  figure  drawn  from  nature  by  so  faithful 
a  hand,  that  its  individuality  gives  vital  interest  and  perma 
nent  value  to  the  whole  picture.  We  believe  that  every  recog 
nized  original  in  fiction  has  its  genuine  counterpart  in  fact ; 
and  that  it  is  because  the  writers  thereof  have  been  so  fortu 
nate  as  to  encounter  and  appreciate  a  fresh  subject  for  their  art, 
that  the  best  creations  of  the  novelist  have  been  preserved 
and  transmitted.  Moreover,  if  too  much  idealized,  the  charm  is 
lost,  for  the  strong  magnetic  features  of  nature  alone  seize 
upon  the  fancy  and  impress  the  mind. 

In  the  winter  of  1819  Mr.  Kennedy  made  a  horseback  journey 
from  Augusta,  Ga.,  through  the  western  part  of  South  Carolina ; 
the  weather  was  fine,j;he  journey  to  youthful  sympathies  cheer 
ing  ;  and  both  observation  and  fancy  gave  interest  to  the  ex 
perience.  We  may  infer  from  his  allusions  to  such  an  eques 
trian  journey  performed  by  Mr.  Wirt  in  his  youth,  how  much 
he  enjoyed  this  excursion :  "  The  way  was  long  and  a  great 
deal  of  it  lay  through  a  dreary  wilderness  of  pine-forest 


164  LIFE    OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 

and  sand  ;  it  was  no  light  enterprise  in  that  day ;  but  we  may 
well  imagine  that  to  the  cheerful  boy,  so  full  of  pleasant  fan 
cies  and  rosy  hopes,  the  wayside  brought  no  weariness ;  no 
shadow  upon  his  path  ever  takes  a  gloomy  hue,  no  lonesome 
by-way  finds  him  unaccompanied  with  pleasant  thoughts,  no 
fatigue  overmasters  or  subdues  the  buoyancy  of  his  mind ; 
nightfall  but  heightens  the  romance  of  his  dreams,  as  he  holds 
his  way  guided  by  some  distant  taper,  to  the  rude  shelter  of 
a  woodman's  hut ;  the  hearth  to  which  he  has  found  this  doubt 
ful  path,  gleams  with  a  light  more  cheerful  than  the  illumina 
tion  of  a  palace,  when  its  rays  are  thrown  on  the  homely  group 
of  the  woodman's  family  from  the  blazing  faggots  kindled  to 
prepare  for  him  a  supper,  with  which  no  banquet  in  his  elder 
day  is  to  be  compared." 

An  ardent  lover  of  nature  and  with  an  eye  for  the  comedy 
of  life,  no  scene  of  beauty  or  characteristic  phase  was  lost  upon 
Mr.  Kennedy  during  his  journey.  At  a  time  of  life  when  im 
pressions  are  the  most  vivid,  he  observed  the  mountains,  forest, 
streams  and  atmosphere  of  a  region  new  to  him.  Seeking  one 
evening  the  hospitable  shelter  so  readily  accorded  the  solitary 
wayfarer  in  the  sparsely  populated  country  he  traversed,  he  ac 
cidentally  encountered  a  remarkable  man,  and  heard  from  his 
own  lips  the  story  of  his  exploits  and  adventures  at  the  mem 
orable  period  of  the  revolutionary  war.  The  courage,  honesty, 
n'Hve  manliness  and  bonhomie  of  this  veteran,  his  vigorous 
frame,  candid  expression,  self-reliance,  tact  and  modesty,  strong 
ly  impressed  the  young  traveller.  In  the  preface  to  "  Horse- 
Shoe  Robinson"  he  gives  an  interesting  account  of  their  inter 
view  ;  and  around  this  actual  basis,  with  this  original  and  gen 
uine  character  as  the  nucleus,  he  crystallized  the  scenes  of  the 
Tory  Ascendancy ;  the  events  described  are  real ;  the  charac 
ter  delineated  is  drawn  directly  from  nature  ;  the  scenes  por 
trayed  were  reflected  upon  a  warm  heart,  noted  by  a  careful  and 
loving  eye  ;  and,  therefore,  it  is  that  we  have  a  genuine  tale  of 
American  life,  wherein  the  scenery,  the  incidents,  and  the  char 
acters  are  faithfully  reproduced  from  history,  tradition,  observa- 


ir>5 

tion  and  life.  When,  many  years  after,  the  finished  tale  was 
submitted  to  its  unconscious  hero,  he  said ;  "  it's  all  true  and 
right — in  its  right  place — excepting  about  them  women,  which  I 
disremember ;" — a  spontaneous  compliment  to  the  author,  who 
confined  his  romance,  as  such,  to  the  subordinate  characters ; 
but  kept  strictly  to  fact  in  regard  to  the  events  of  the  war  and 
the  adventures  of  the  patriotic  yeoman. 

Galbraith  Robinson's  sobriquet  of  Horse-Shoe  was  derived 
partly  from  his  original  vocation — that  of  a  blacksmith — and 
partly  from  the  fact  that  his  little  farm  on  the  Catawba  boasted 
a  dwelling  "  upon  a  promontory,  around  whose  base  the  Wax- 
haw  Creek  swept  with  a  regular  but  narrow  circuit ;"  this  famil 
iar  appellative  had  followed  him  to  the  army  ;  and  we  may  add, 
became  the  playful  designation  whereby  his  genial  biographer 
was  often  addressed  and  alluded  to  by  his  friends,  after  the 
popularity  achieved  by  the  novel  that  bears  his  name.  Like 
Old  Mortality  and  Leather  Stocking  he  was  one  of  those  primi 
tive  characters  born  of  special  local  influences ;  thoroughly 
American ;  mechanic,  woodman,  soldier,  patriot  and  philoso 
pher  in  his  homely  and  honest  way,  he  differed,  in  many  re 
spects,  from  the  somewhat  similar  type  of  men  born  or  bred 
in  New  England  and  the  Western  States.  Illiterate  but  saga 
cious,  observant  and  thoughtful,  with  an  imperturbable  good 
humor,  a  companionable  temper,  he  possessed  the  valor  of  a 
hero,  a  fidelity  to  cause  and  friend  as  steadfast  as  the  stars, — • 
combined  with  a  gentleness  such  as  only  a  true  and  tender 
heart  can  engender.  "  With  seventy  years  upon  his  poll,"  says 
Mr.  Kennedy,  describing  his  aspect  years  after  the  events  in 
which  he  took  so  prominent  a  part,  "  time  seemed  to  have 
broken  its  billows  upon  his  front  only  as  the  ocean  breaks 
over  a  rock  ;  tall,  brawny  and  erect,  his  homely  dress,  his  free 
stride,  his  face  radiant  with  kindness,  the  natural  gracefulness 
of  his  motion,  all  afforded  a  ready  index  to  his  character; 
Horse-Shoe  was  evidently  a  man  to  confide  in."  One  of  na 
ture's  noblemen,  a  self-devoted  champion  of  freedom,  full  of  re 
sources  in  perilous  times  and  with  as  much  prudent  foresight 


106  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

and  practical  wisdom  as  native  courage  and  benign  sympathy, 
he  yet  made  sad  havoc  with  the  King's  English,  could  not  sign 
his  name,  and  destitute  of  all  clerkly  arts,  had  the  soul  of  a 
true  cavalier.  Only  the  discipline  of  frontier  life,  the  loneli 
ness  of  forest  wayfaring,  the  habit  of  self-reliance  and  an  at 
mosphere  of  liberty,  could  have  given  birth  to  such  manly  prob 
ity  and  genuine  sentiment  unrefined  by  education  and  social 
position.  Among  the  peasantry  of  Europe,  the  rustics  of 
England,  the  sons  of  the  Eastern  deserts,  may  be  found  certain 
traits  and  tendencies  akin  to  the  American  backwoodsman  ;  but 
his  morale  is  wholly  diverse,  his  intelligence  of  another  order, 
and  the  peculiarities  of  his  diction,  the  habitudes  of  his  life,  and 
his  facility  of  adaptation  as  well  as  candid  self-respect  and  un 
faltering  heroism — all  distinctive  and  individual ;  and  it  is  be 
cause  these  are  so  faithfully  conserved  and  illustrated  that  both 
the  story  and  its  hero  are  so  consistently  and  emphatically 
American. 

"  We  are  as  confident,"  says  a  well-informed  critic,  "  in  read 
ing  *  Horse-Shoe  Robinson,'  of  its  historical  facts,  as  if  we  got 
them  from  Ramsay  or  Chalmers." 

The  description  of  the  battle  of  King's  Mountain,  in  this 
novel,  has  been  regarded  by  competent  judges  as  one  of  the 
best  ever  written  both  as  to  absolute  historic  truth  and  clear 
emphatic  details  ;  and  long  after  the  story  appeared,  an  artist 
celebrated  for  his  fidelity  in  delineation,  who  had  visited  King's 
Mountain,  expressed  to  Mr.  Kennedy,  after  making  a  careful 
drawing  thereof,  his  great  surprise  at  the  minute  accuracy  of 
the  latter's  topographical  description. 

Nor  is  this  comparatively  remote  theme  as  thus  treated,  de 
void  of  present  significance. 

"  One  feature,"  says  Mr.  Kennedy,  "  that  belonged  to  this 
unhappy  state  of  things  in  Carolina,  was  the  division  of  fami 
lies.  Kindred  were  arrayed  against  each  other  in  deadly  feuds. 
~  A  prevailing  spirit  of  treachery  and  distrust  marked  the  times. 
There  is  no  trial  of  courage  which  will  bear  comparison  with 
that  of  a  man  whose  own  opinions  stand  in  opposition,  upon 


"HOBSE-SHOE  ROBIXSOX."  167 

fearful  questions  of  passion,  to  those  of  the  giddy-paced  and 
excited  multitude,  and  who  nevertheless  carries  them  into  act. 
That  man  who  can  stand  in  the  breach  of  universal  public 
censure  with  all  the  factions  of  opinion  disgracing  him  in  the 
thoughts  of  the  lookers-on,  with  the  tide  of  obloquy  beating 
against  his  breast,  and  the  fingers  of  the  mighty  combined 
many  pointing  him  to  scorn  •  that  man  shall  come  forth  from 
this  fierce  ordeal  like  tried  gold ;  philosophy  shall  embalm  his 
name  in  her  richest  unction ;  and  history  shall  give  him  a 
place  on  her  brightest  page."  How  little  did  the  earnest 
writer  think,  while  thus  expressing  his  manly  appreciation  of 
the  undaunted  minority  that  refused  to  succumb  to  the  "  Tory 
Ascendancy"  in  Carolina,  that,  forty  years  after,  he  would  be 
hold  a  like  moral,  necessity  for  national  loyalty  in  his  native 
State  and  city  ;  and  himself  illustrate  it  by  consistent  fidelity 
to  the  national  life  and  honor,  in  the  face  of  banded  and  often 
brutal  social  and  political  alienation  ! 

"  Altogether,"  says  the  Southern  Quarterly  Review,  when 
this  novel  first  appeared — "  a  more  perfect  and  perfectly  drawn 
study  of  its  class  you  will  hardly  find  anywhere  in  American  fic 
tion;  and  the  felicity  of  the  portrait  was  at  once  established  by 
the  popularity  of  the  character."  And  the  New  York  Review, 
in  the  same  strain,  remarked  :  "  This  is  a  faithful  portrait  of  a 
frank,  shrewd,  generous,  high-spirited  backwoodsman ;  rough, 
untutored,  but  warm  and  kindly ;  unlearned  in  books,  but  of  an 
admirable  mother  wit ;  quick  in  expedients,  fertile  in  resource  ; 
of  large  experience  and  of  that  buoyant  nature  which  never 
knows  how  to  succumb  to  misfortune  and  so  laughs  under  the 
pressure  of  fate  as  to  take  from  it  its  most  sour  aspect.  In  a 
broader  style,  less  subtle  but  perhaps  more  truthful,  Horse- 
Shoe  Robinson  is  another  Leather  Stocking." 

o 

With  the  exception  of  the  "  Spy"  and  "  Lionel  Lincoln."  no 
successful  attempts  at  the  historical  novel  had  previously  il 
lustrated  the  brief  annals  of  our  country.  This  experiment  of 
Mr.  Kennedy's  was,  therefore,  hailed  with  satisfaction  and  en 
couragement.  The  minor  characters  were  not  regarded  as  suf- 


108  LIFE    OF    JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 

ficiently  original,  nor  did  the  narrative,  as  such,  meet  with  ; 
much  favor  as  it  seems  to  us  to  deserve  ;  these  were  overshadow 
ed  by  the  interest  and  emphasis  of  the  principal  personage  ;  ye 
upon  a  recent  reperusal,  we  find  a  completeness  of  detail  in  tl 
still-life  and  an  authenticity  in  the  historical  scope,  which  desen 
grateful  recognition  •  although  we  agree  with  the  critic  last  qu 
ted,  that  Mr.' Kennedy's  merits  "lie  in  portraiture  of  characte 
and  especially  in  a  happy  perception  of  the  piquant  and  the  c 
rious,"  we  none  the  less  appreciate  the  force  and  fidelity  of  h 
descriptions  of  scenery,  of  the  sentiment  and  the  sensation  d 
rived  from  the  transitions  of  nature,  and  a  careful  loyalty  to  hi 
tory  and  tradition  in  the  political  and  social  frame-work  of  tl 
story.  He  has  drawn,  in  these  pages,  the  natural  features  c 
parts  of  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas,  with  a  truth  which  every  a 
tistic  mind  will  enjoy ;  he  therein  proves  himself  a  conscientioi 
as  well  as  skilful  limner.  Nor  has  he  failed  to  give  us  the  mo 
vivid  and  just  impression  of  the  hardihood  and  faith  of  tho: 
"  who  in  South  Carolina  entered  with  the  best  spirit  of  chival 
into  the  national  quarrel  and  brought  to  it  hearts  as  bold,  mint 
as  vigorous  and  aims  as  true  as  ever,  in  any  clime,  worked  o 
a  nation's  redemption.  These  men  refused  submission  to  the 
conquerors  and  endured  exile,  chains  and  prison  rather  thi 
the  yoke.  They  lived  on  the  scant  aliment  furnished  in  tl 
woods,  retreated  into  secret  places,  gathered  their  few  patri 
neighbors  together,  and  contrived  to  keep  in  awe  the  soldi 
government  that  now  professed  to  sway  the  land." 

"Horse-Shoe  Robinson"  was  published  in  1836  ;  andnes 
ly  a  quarter  of  a  century  after,  the  story  was  effectively  drar 
atized  : 

"  I  went  the  other  night,"  says  the  author  in  his  diary,  dat< 
Baltimore,  May  5th,  1856,  "  to  see  the  new  drama  of  Horse-Sin 

Robinson,  fabricated  by  Mr.  T of  the  Holiday  Stre 

Theatre,  out  of  my  novel.     It  was  the  first  performance  of 
A  great  crowd  was  there  and  greeted  it  with  vehement  a 
plause.     It  is  amazingly  noisy,  and  full  of  battles,  and  amus 
the  gallery  hugely.     Mr.  Ford  was  very  kind  in  giving  me 


169 

private  box  to  witness  it.     It  has  had  a  most  successful  run 
since  that  night  for  a  week." 

And  another  social  result  of  the  book  is  thus  noted: 
"Baltimore,  Sept,  23,  1855. — There  is  to  be  a  celebration 
at  King's  Mountain,  in  North  Carolina — a  commemoration  of 
the  great  battle  of  the  Revolution,  which  I  have  made  so  prom 
inent  in  '  Horse-Shoe  Robinson.'  It  is  to  take  place  on  the  an 
niversary  of  the  fight — the  4th  of  October.  I  received  a  letter 
yesterday,  dated  the  loth,  from  a  committee  from  Yorkville, 
inviting  me  to  be  present,  and  unite  in  the  celebration.  They 
urge  their  invitation  with  much  kind  flattery  of  Horse-Shoe." 

The  following  letters  agreeably  suggest  the  cordial  recep- 
d  on  of  the  story  : 

NEW  YORK,  June  5,  1836. 

MY  DFAR  KENNEDY  : — I  have  read  your  work  with  great 
gusto  ;  and  think  honest  Horse-Shoe  will  be  a  decided  favor 
ite  with  the  public.  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  caution  me  sooner 
to  secresy  about  it,  as  I  was  so  tickled  with  some  parts  of  it, 
that  I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me  help  reading  them  to  some 
of  my  cronies  among  the  brokers  and  jobbers  of  Wall  Street ; 
but  then  they  are  men  to  be  relied  on  and  they  swore  the  thing 
should  go  no  further.  They  think  your  work  could  not  be 
"thrown  into  the  market"  at  a  better  moment  than  the  pres 
ent,  when  money  is  plenty,  and  "fancy  stocks"  of  all  kind 
"  looking  up." 

Yours,  very  truly, 

WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

LONDON,  June  10,  1836. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : — In  to  writing  thank  you,  as  I  ought  to  have 
done  long  ago,  I  am  at  a  loss  how  to  express  my  feelings — in 
the  first  place,  for  an  honor  so  great  and  so  undeserved  as  the 
dedication  ;  and  in  the  second  for  a  staff,  my  constant  compan 
ion  in  my  walks,  a  companion  endeared  to  me  by  so  many 
pleasant  associations  •  for,  vast  as  is  the  sea  that  rolls  between 
us,  I  can  seldom  lean  upon  it  or  lift  it  from  the  ground  in  our 
crowded  streets,  without  reflecting  on  the  romantic  character 
of  its  birth-place,  and  on  your  kindness  for  thinking  of  me 
there. 

Your  story  in  my  eyes  has  a  double  charm  ;  for,  delightful 
8 


170  •  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

as  it  is  in  itself,  the  time  was  the  time  of  my  childhood,  and 
the  turns  of  fortune  in  that  cruel  war  are  as  fresh  in  my  men- 
ory  as  the  events  of  yesterday.  My  earliest  pulses  beat  in 
your  favor ;  and,  little  as  I  was  then,  I  can  well  remember 
what  we  felt,  when,  as  we  sat  around  the  fire,  my  father,  before 
he  opened  his  Bible,  announced  to  us  the  Battle  of  Bunker 
Hill.  I  need  not,  I  am  sure,  repeat  how  happy  I  shall  be  to 
see  you  here,  and  to  thank  you,  face  to  face,  for  all  I  owe  you. 
Ever,  most  sincerely  yours, 

SAMUEL  ROGERS. 

Tuesday  Morning. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : — I  return  your  book  with  many  thanks  for 
the  pleasure  you  have  afforded  me  in  its  perusal  in  anticipa 
tion  of  its  publication — a  kindness  I  assure  you  I  duly  appre 
ciate.  I  must  however  still  hold  you  to  your  promise  of  a 
copy  in  due  time ;  it  is  a  compliment  and  a  prize  I  cannot 
consent  to  forego — especially  as  my  wife  has  not  had  an  op 
portunity  of  enjoying  the  same  gratification,  owing  to  the  sick 
ness  of  her  little  niece  and  her  preparations  for  removing  to 
Beech  Hill,  expecting  to  do  so  when  the  book  is  out. 

Much  as  I  was  pleased  with  "  Swallow  Barn,1'  yet  in  my 
opinion  "  Horse-Shoe  Robinson"  is  a  superior  work,  and  will, 
I  think,  establish  your  reputation  as  an  author,  not  only  here, 
but  abroad.  Your  story  is  full  of  interest,  which  never  flags, 
and  is  well  told.  Your  characters  are  full  as  well  sustained  as 
in  your  first  work,  and  possess  no  extravagance  or  caricature 
in  the  delineation,  while  there  is  more  continuity  in  it  as  a  tale. 
"  Horse-Shoe,"  your  hero,  is  admirably  drawn,  and  is  always  in 
action  and  language  the  same,  without  exaggeration,  and  has 
the  rare  merit  of  being  from  the  very  first  page  before  the 
reader,  and  mixed  up  with  nearly  every  transaction.  This 
keeps  your  reader's  attention  always  alive  and  on  the  alert, 
and  he  is  not  shocked  by  unexpected  and  unnatural  exhibi 
tions  of  the  man,  for  by  the  manner  in  which  you  relate  his 
extraordinary  exploits  they  never  appear  out  of  character. 
The  battle  of  King's  Mountain  is  spiritedly  told,  and  remind 
ed  me  of  that  in  Marmion ;  coming  in  at  the  close  of  the 
story,  and  intimately  connected  with  its  winding  up,  it  is  ex 
tremely  effective  in  leaving  a  strong  impression,  as  well  as  a 
favorable  one  on  the  reader's  mind,  who  becomes,  as  it  were, 
reconciled  to  laying  down  the  book,  instead  of  looking  out  for 
further  incident.  It  operates  as  a  sedative.  I  wish,  however, 


171 

you  had  not  killed  Philip  Lindsay,  though  it  was  just  retribu 
tion  for  his  toryism.  Yet  you  might  have  healed  his  wound, 
and  made  it  auxilliary  to  open  his  eyes  to  the  error  of  his 
judgment,  both  with  regard  to  the  cause  of  his  country  and 
Butler's  merit — winding  up  his  story  in  domestic  happiness. 
Your  heroine  is  truly  one,  and  I  confess  that  you  have  contrived 
to  blind  your  reader  as  to  her  real  situation  with  regard  to  her 
apparent  lover ;  so  much  so  that  her  exclamation  when  she 
sees  him,  after  the  battle,  was  the  first  announcement  of  her 
marriage,  which  came  upon  me  by  surprise.  It  justifies  the 
firmness  with  which  she  opposed  her  father's  wishes,  and 
the  boldness  of  her  undertaking  to  visit  the  scene  of  war 
in  search  of  him.  Upon  the  whole,  you  have  every  reason  to 
be  satisfied  with  your  book,  and  I  have  no  doubt  of  its  com 
plete  success.  You  ought,  therefore,  to  feel  encouraged  to  pro 
ceed  in  your  career  of  authorship  in  which  you  are  now  fairly 
embarked,  and  I  am  sure  cannot  want  for  materials  for  many 
future  tales.  There  are  so  many  episodes  of  interest  in  the 
history  of  our  revolution,  and  also  in  the  progress  of  settle 
ment  of  our  western  empire,  which  foreigners  dare  not  meddle 
with,  that  you  have  as  spacious  a  field  for  your  harvest  as  a 
laborer  could  wish  to  put  his  sickle  into ;  and  I  know  of  no 
writer  likely  to  interfere  with  you,  especially  in  your  peculiar 
manner  of  telling  your  story.  It  partakes  at  times  of  Irving 
and  Paulding,  but  is  better,  for  your  purpose,  than  either.  Go 
on,  therefore,  and  prosper.  Your  obliged  friend, 

ROBERT  GILMOR. 


172  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Political  Lfe;  The  Protective  System;  Clay;  Elected  to  Congress; 
Social  Privileges ;  Defence  of  the  Whigs  ;  Reports  ;  Proposal  of 
Webster;  Complimentary  Dinner ;  Aids  Morse's  Telegraphic  Ex 
periment;  Again  elected  to  the  Maryland  House  of  Delegates; 
Speech  at  llagerstown ;  Political  work  and  distaste  therefor. 

SOME  of  the  earliest  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  effective  writings 
and  speeches  on  public  questions,  were  devoted  to  the 
cause  of  Protection.  In  1830  a  pamphlet  from  his  pen  signed 
Mephistopheles,  in  which  he  reviewed  Mr.  Cambreleng's  some 
what  celebrated  report  on  Commerce,  made  a  wide  and  lasting 
impression,  and  proved  a  timely  and  successful  plea  and  pro 
test  in  behalf  of  the  economical  convictions  he  cherished.  It 
still  holds  a  place  among  the  few  really  able  memorabilia  of  a 
controversy  which,  under  different  names,  and  in  various  cir 
cumstances,  continues  to  elicit  arguments  and  illustrations 
from  the  votaries  of  political  economy  and  practical  states 
manship. 

The  following  year,  as  a  member  of  the  Convention  of 
the  Friends  of  American  Industry  held  in  New  York,  con 
jointly  with  Mr.  Warren  Button,  of  Massachusetts,  and  Mr. 
Charles  J.  Ingersoll,  of  Pennsylvania,  he  prepared  the  address 
which  that  body  issued  to  the  people  of  the  United  States. 

February  i4th,  1832,  he  says,  in  a  letter  to  his  wife,  from 
Washington  : 

"  I  am  busily  employed  in  collecting  the  materials  for  a 
work  both  of  usefulness  and  renown ;  and  now  seriously  in 
tend  to  carry  my  purpose  into  execution  of  writing  a  full  view 
of  the  Protective  question.  My  opportunities  here  for  gather- 


FRIENDSHIP   FOR    CLAY.  173 

ing  the  necessary  elements  of  such  a  treatise  are  ample,  and  I 
do  not  permit  the  occasion  to  pass  unprofitably." 

In  the  same  month,  while  at  Washington,  assisting  in  the 
preparation  and  passage  of  the  Tariff,  he  writes  :  "  Mr.  McLane 
wishes  me  to  prepare  a  historical  sketch  of  the  manufactures 
of  Maryland.  I  was  introduced  to  Clay  by  Mr.  Sergeant. 
He  immediately  asked  me  if  my  father  was  still  living,  and  in 
vited  me  to  dine  with  him  to-day."  This  was  the  commence 
ment  of  a  long  political  fraternity  and  intimate  personal  friend 
ship  ;  to  the  last  Mr.  Kennedy  cherished  the  warmest  regard  for 
him  who  had  won  the  admiration  of  his  youth,  through  the  fami 
ly  attachment  which  made  his  affection  a  traditional  as  well  as 
a  personal  allegiance.  In  common  with  so  many  of  the  ardent 
friends  of  the  Kentucky  Senator,  Mr.  Kennedy  earnestly 
sought  to  secure  his  nomination  for  the  Presidency.  In  Octo 
ber,  1834,  he  writes  to  Judge  Bryan  ;  "  Count  me  in,  and  I  will 
tell  you  all  I  can  of  our  friend  Clay.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  we 
Whigs  will  do  all  we  can  for  him  here."  And  writing  from  Bos 
ton,  in  1844,  he  describes  the  speeches  and  procession  of  the 
Clay  Club,  at  which  he  assisted — "Winthrop  and  myself  inarch 
ing  in  a  leading  platoon  to  take  the  cars  for  Lynn  and  address 
five  thousand  people  there." 

"  I  was  near  the  President  on  the  platform  of  the  east  por 
tico,"  he  says,  writing  of  Gen.  Harrison's  Inauguration—"  Mr. 
Clay  presented  himself  in  the  group  around  the  President, 
which  the  multitude  perceiving,  they  began  to  shout,  which  com 
pelled  him  instantly  to  withdraw.  He  is  now  the  man  of  the 
nation."  And  on  the  fifteenth  of  the  same  month,  he  writes  : 
"I  witnessed  the  reconciliation  in  the  Senate  between  Mr.  Clay 
and  Mr.  King,  of  Alabama  ;  a  challenge  had  passed,  but  the 
intervention  of  friends,  led  by  Preston,  brought  about  a  harmo 
nious  conclusion." 

Under  date  of  Jan.  2d,  1852,  he  writes:  "Yesterday 
brought  me  a  letter  from  our  noble  old  friend  Henry  Clay.  It 
is  written  by  his  secretary  but  signed  by  himself.  They  say  he 
is  very  anxious  to  find  strength  enough  to  get  once  more  into 


174:  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

the  Senate  and  make  his  final  speech  there.  It  would  be  a 
glorious  consummation  of  his  patriotic  life  to  be  brought,  like 
Chatham,  into  the  Senate  and  deliver  his  last  word  of  warning  to 
his  country." 

Five  days  after,  while  in  Washington,  he  saw  his  old  friend 
for  the  last  time,  and  thus  describes  his  condition  :  "  Called  to 
see  Mr.  Clay  ;  he  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  greatly  emaciated.  He 
expressed  earnest  pleasure  in  seeing  me ;  thanked  me  very 
cordially  for  the  invitation  to  come  to  our  house,  said  he  knew 
how  well  the  ladies  would  nurse  him,  but  that  his  case  is  past 
mending  " 

In  1837  Mr.  Kennedy  was  nominated  for  Congress  with 
Mr.  Sterret  Ridgely,  but  was  defeated,  after  a  most  arduous 
canvass,  by  Howard  and  McKim  ;  the  latter  died  in  the  winter 
of  1838,  and  Mr.  Kennedy  was  immediately  renominated  by 
the  Whigs,  on  the  Protection  platform,  to  supply  his  place. 
His  election,  April  25th,  1838,  was  regarded  as  a  great  triumph. 

The  ensuing  winter  passed  off  very  agreeably  at  Washing 
ton.  It  was  during  the  palmy  days  of  the  Whig  party,  when 
the  legislative  halls,  as  well  as  the  social  circles  of  the  Capital, 
boasted  a  number  of  eminent  men  and  attractive  and  accom 
plished  women,  many  of  whom  have  become  historical ;  the 
remembrance  of  whose  society  is  still  fondly  cherished  by 
those  who  have  survived  them  ;  and  to  be  a  favorite  with 
whom,  may  justly  be  regarded  as  no  common  title  to  distinc 
tion  and  respect.  Mr.  Kennedy  was  the  comrade  and  friend 
of  many  patriotic  and  gifted  statesmen  ;  with  whom  his  inter 
course  was  constant  and  full  of  interest,  furnishing  him  with 
an  inexhaustible  fund  of  salient  anecdotes  and  genial  remin 
iscences.  Their  personal  consideration  and  subsequent  cor 
respondence  indicate  the  highest  confidence  and  the  warmest 
regard. 

Thus,  at  Washington,  his  most  active  political  career  began 
when  the  first  New  Year's  call  was  devoted  to  Mrs.  Madison 
and  Mrs.  Hamilton  ;  when  Webster's  eloquence  was  the  in 
tellectual  treat  of  the  day  ;  when  the  spectator  in  the  gallery 


POLITICAL    LIFE.  175 

of  the  Senate  looked  down  upon  the  noble  heads  of  Clay  and 
Calhoun,  Benton,  Webster,  Crittenden  and  Preston.  When 
such  patriotic  and  capable  men  as  John  Quincy  Adams,  John 
Davis,  Poinsett,  Saltonstall,  Jenifer,  Ogden  Hoffman,  Gov- 
erneur  Kemble,  Bates  and  others,  were  members  of  the  House 
of  Representatives,  and  graced  the  reunions  with  LegarS  and 
Everett ;  and  with  Lord  Morpeth,  Miss  Martineau  and  other 
distinguished  strangers ;  when  Fanny  Kemble  illustrated  the 
Shakspearean  and  Mrs.  Wood  the  lyric  drama  ;  when  Washing 
ton  Irving  was  in  the  hey-day  of  his  fame  ;  the  editorial  fraterni 
ty  boasted  a  Walsh,  a  Gales  and  a  Seaton  ;  when  social  life  was 
illustrated  by  Dr.  Bethune  and  Professor  Silliman,  General 
Scott  and  Fennimore  Cooper,  and  Chancellor  Kent,  Albert 
Gallatin,  Gulian  C.  Verplanck,  Prescott  and  Rush. 

The  fact  that  Mr.  Kennedy  was  the  first  Whig  elected  from 
the  district,  gave  eclat  to  his  presence  in  the  House  of  Repre 
sentatives,  where  he  was  immediately  hailed  as  one  of  the 
most  capable  and  earnest  of  the  new  members,  whom  the 
transitions  incident  to  the  financial  revulsion  of  the  previous 
year,  had  brought  into  Congress.  To  none  of  his  friends  was 
his  election  more  gratifying  than  to  his  uncle  Philip,  who 
thus  writes  on  the  occasion  :  "  Albeit  I  am  an  old  man,  some 
what  given  to  meditate  on  the  vanity  of  all  things,  I  am 
every  now  and  then  reminded  that  nature  has  not  yet  done 
with  her  emotions  in  me.  When  Boyd,  on  Thursday  evening, 
brought  into  the  room  and  threw  me  the  American  of  that 
morning,  exclaiming,  "  There,  sir,  is  something  for  you — Cou 
sin  John  is  elected,"  I  almost  bounded  from  my  chair.  I  re 
joice  in  this  election  in  all  its  bearings — personal  and  politi 
cal."  And  subsequently  he  writes  :  "  I  have  read,  with  the 
most  vivid  gratification,  your  letter  to  your  constituents.  In 
my  judgment  it  is  throughout  the  soundest  truth  brought  forth 
from  recesses  not  before  reached  by  the  weak  intellects  of  the 
country  ;  and  very  beautifully  and  forcibly  illustrated." 

"  I  am  in  the  centre  of  all  kinds  of  congratulations,"  Mr. 
Kennedy  writes  from  Washington  in  May,  1838  ;  and  in  the 


176  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

following  month :  "  There  is  a  suspicion  that  they  mean  to 
spring  the  Sub-Treasury  bill  on  us  in  a  day  or  two,  and,  if  they 
can,  to  take  the  voters  without  warning.  I  hope  to  air  my  vo 
cabulary  on  that  occasion,  when  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  demean 
myself  with  most  maidenly  decorum.  Jack  Thomas  has  sent 
me  a  salmon,  which  cost  me  a  dinner  to  Clay,  Preston,  Hoff 
man,  Jenifer,  Legare,  Howard  and  Marcy." 

Upon  his  re-election,  in  1841,  Mr.  Kennedy  was  appointed 
Chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Commerce  ;  his  report  on  our 
so-called  Reciprocity  Treaties,  and  their  effects  on  the  ship 
ping  interests  of  the  country,  excited  very  general  attention 
on  account  of  its  wise  insight  and  practical  suggestions.  After 
the  death  of  General  Harrison,  when  President  Tyler's  de 
fection  from  the  party  that  had  elected  him  Vice-President, 
awakened  such  wide  indignation,  to  Mr.  Kennedy  was  ap 
pointed  the  task  of  preparing  a  manifesto  in  behalf  of  the 
Whig  members,  at  the  close  of  the  extra  session  of  Congress, 
exposing  and  denouncing  the  treachery  of  the  Executive. 

Seldom  has  a  political  document  served  a  better  purpose 
or  more  ably  represented  the  states  of  parties  ;  it  was  as 
effective  as  it  was  seasonable.  "  Rarely  surpassed,"  wrote  a 
distinguished  critic,  "  in  ability,  perspicuity  and  scathing  rig 
or.1'  Though  its  immediate  significance  has  long  since  passed 
away,  like  all  expressions  of  political  faith  based  on  intelli 
gence  and  probity,  "  A  Defence  of  the  Whigs"  still  retains 
an  interest  and  utility,  and  is  an  essential  part  of  the  history 
of  a  great  party,  and  a  permanent  illustration  of  a  remarkable 
period  and  phase  of  our  political  history. 

In  allusion  to  this  subject,  in  his  journal,  he  writes :  "The 
task  was  committed  singly  to  myself,  and  accordingly  I  went 
about  the  work,  with  some  few  hints  from  Mr.  Clay,  whom  I 
consulted.  I  had  the  paper  ready  at  the  time  proposed.  It 
was  read  and  unanimously  adopted  by  all  the  Whig  members 
in  Washington." 

Mr.  Kennedy  served  on  the  Select  Committee  on  Currency ; 
and  his  speeches  and  reports  on  the  subject  were  effective  and 


POLITICAL    LIFE.  ITT 

perspicuous.  The  session  of  1842  was  the  longest  known,  and 
he  characterized  it  as  remarkable  for  "  the  patriotic  labor  of  the 
Whigs,  the  factious  character  of  the  opposition,  and  the  folly, 
debasement  and  treachery  of  the  President."  They  passed  the 
Tariff  bill ;  and  the  N.  W.  Boundary  Treaty  was  negotiated  by 
Webster  and  Lord  Ashburton.  Mr.  Kennedy  made,  besides 
this  elaborate  report  from  the  Committee  on  Commerce,  a 
counter  report  to  Cushing's  on  the  Currency  ;  and  acted  as 
Chairman  of  the  Committee  on  an  International  Copyright 
Law.  It  is  a  striking  evidence  of  the  confidence  felt  in  his 
ability  and  his  friendship,  that  John  Quincy  Adams  exacted 
from  him  a  promise,  in  case  of  survival,  and  the  political  ex 
position  in  which  the  former  had  made  two  speeches  was  left  by 
him  unfinished,  to  conclude  the  argument  if  he,  the  venerable 
patriot,  should  not  live  to  make  a  third.  In  the  following  let 
ter  Mr.  Clay  refers  to  one  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  speeches  : 

ASHLAND,  April  17th,  1830. 
To  THE  HON.  MR.  KENNEDY. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : — I  very  seldom  read  any  speech  made  in 
Congress, — not  even  my  own ;  but  seeing  one  of  yours  in  the 
Intelligencer  of  the  nth,  I  was  tempted  to  read  it,  and  cannot 
refrain  from  expressing  to  you  the  high  satisfaction  which  I  have 
derived  from  its  perusal.  It  sketches  with  a  masterly  pencil,  the 
character  of  General  Jackson,  the  dangerous  principles  of  his 
administration,  the  forlorn  condition  of  M.  Van  Buren,  and 
the  weakness  of  the  Cabinet  by  which  he  is  surrounded.  It  is 
a  document  for  the  historian  to  consult  and  follow,  who  shall 
undertake  to  record  the  transactions  and  events  of  the  last  ten 
years  in  these  States. 

In  one  respect  I  differ  from  you,  and  that  is  in  the  com 
mendation  which  you  bestow  on  the  conduct  of  our  foreign  af 
fairs  during  General  Jackson's  administration.  We  had  un 
doubtedly  some  success — the  result  of  good  fortune  rather 
than  diplomatic  skill — in  securing  the  payment  of  old  claims 
upon  foreign  powers.  But  what  else  was  achieved  ?  It  was  a 
leading  principle  in  his  policy  to  propitiate  Great  Britain  ;  and 
accordingly  the  Colonial  carrying  trade  has  been  sacrificed,  the 
foreign  tonnage  greatly  increased,  and  of  consequence,  the 
American  proportionately  diminished,  and  the  Protective  policy 
8* 


178  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

crippled,  the  total  destruction,  which  he  no  doubt  meditated, 
only  averted  by  the  Compromise.  Witness,  too,  the  bungling 
management  of  the  question  of  the  N.  E.  Boundary.  Then, 
how  miserably  have  we  been,  and  continue  to  be,  represented 
abroad  everywhere  ! 

I  congratulate  you  on  our  success  in  Connecticut.  I  hope 
I  may  add  in  the  City  of  New  York  also,  although  the  issue  of 
that  election,  now  known  to  you,  has  not  yet  reached  me. 

Present  my  warm  regards  to  Mrs.  Kennedy  and  to  Mr. 
Gray  and  family. 

I  am,  your  friend  and  obd't  servant, 

H.  CLAY. 

Another  voluminous  and  important  Report  to  Congress, 
from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Kennedy,  was  that  on  Colonization.  The 
Palmas  colony  had  first  emigrated  from  Maryland ;  and,  from 
numerous  authentic  documents  relating  to  the  voyage  and 
settlement,  this  copious  statement  of  facts  was  prepared  by 
the  Chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Commerce.  It  is  one  of 
the  most  complete  Congressional  papers  of  the  session,  and 
forms  a  valuable  part  of  the  history  of  negro  Colonization. 

In  1840  Mr.  Kennedy  was  chosen  one  of  the  electors  by 
whom  General  Harrison  was  made  President  of  the  United 
States  ;  and,  the  following  year,  was  again  elected  to  Congress. 
On  resuming  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  he  took 
a  house  in  Washington  with  his  friend,  the  Hon.  Robert  C. 
Winthrop,  for  the  winter.  Some  of  the  many  personal  friends 
of  these  gentlemen  cannot  but  recall  with  pleasure  the  charm 
ing  society  of  which  their  house  was  the  scene  ;  the  distin 
guished  men  whose  conversation  made  memorable  the  two 
winters  they  and  their  respective  families  formed  so  con 
genial  a  household;  many  of  the  intimacies  then  and  there 
originated,  continued  till  the  close  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  life  ;  and 
it  is  to  be  observed,  in  regard  to  every  period  of  his  residence 
in  Washington,  that  the  peculiar  social  charm  of  his  character, 
and  his  constant  attention  to  the  claims  of  social  duty  and  the 
opportunities  for  social  privileges,  enriched  his  life,  extended 
his  usefulness,  and  raised  his  official  position,  through  the 


POLITICAL    LIFE.  179 

amenities  and  kindliness  which  refine  political  intercourse 
and  dignify  official  life,  by  making  it  the  occasion  of  manly, 
generous  and  honorable  sympathies  and  services. 

In  the  campaign  which  resulted  in  the  election  of  General 
Harrison,  the  ceremonies  of  his  inauguration,  and  those  which 
so  soon  followed  in  sorrow  for  his  death  and  honor  to  his 
memory,  Mr  Kennedy  took  an  active  part ;  and  his  descrip 
tion  thereof  and  comments  thereon  are  as  graphic  as  they  are 
just.  His  note-books  and  letters  embody  and  illustrate  the 
various  events  and  tendencies  of  that  period  with  fulness  and 
discrimination.  It  was  about  this  time  that  the  desire  to  en 
list  his  abilities  in  the  service  of  the  Cabinet,  became  apparent. 
Mr.  Webster,  then  Secretary  of  State,  proposed  to  establish 
the  office  of  Under  Secretary,  to  whom  should  be  submitted 
the  charge  of  the  diplomatic  business  ;  and,  before  the  design 
transpired,  he  confidentially  offered  the  place  to  Mr.  Kenne 
dy,  whose  views  on  the  subject  are  expressed  in  a  letter  to 
Mr.  Webster,  dated  February  28th,  1841. 

"  In  reflecting  upon  the  conversation  we  had  in  Washing 
ton,  I  had  some  misgivings  that  I  had  not  conveyed  to  your 
mind  as  distinctly  as  I  wished,  my  sense  of  the  kindness  of 
your  proposal  and  the  gratification  with  which  I  received  such 
a  manifestation  of  your  good  opinion.  Our  friends  here  in 
tend  to  make  another  struggle  for  the  representation  of  the 
city,  and  I  believe  it  is  understood  that  I  am  to  be  put  forward 
for  that  contest.  This  expectation  has  drawn  toward  me,  as 
a  medium  of  communication  with  the  government,  nearly 
every  application  for  office  in  this  district ;  and  has  compelled 
me  to  assume  a  ground  of  the  utmost  impartiality,  a  ground 
which  I  could  only  maintain  by  avoiding  all  suspicion  of  hav 
ing  a  personal  interest  in  any  appointment  whatever.  This 
will  explain  to  you  the  readiness  with  which  I  was  able  to  re 
ply  to  your  very  kind  proposal."  This  project  of  "  reorganiz 
ing  the  Department,  creating  an  Under  Secretaryship,  with  a 
high  salary,  to  be  charged  with  a  general  superintendance  of 
the  diplomacy  of  the  government,  and  to  take  the  place  of  the 


180  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

secretary  when  requisite" — was  never  carried  out  in  the  man 
ner  Mr.  Webster  proposed,  although  his  views,  in  a  modified 
form,  were  practically  adopted.  Meantime,  during  the  interval 
between  his  first  and  second  election  to  Congress,  Mr.  Kennedy 
was  the  recipient  of  an  unexpected  testimony  of  the  regard  of 
his  personal  and  political  friends  at  Washington.  Under  date 
of  December  6,  1840,  he  writes  :  "  Having  been  at  Washington 
during  part  of  February,  many  friends  of  mine  belonging  to  the 
House  of  Representatives  as  well  as  the  Senate,  took  the  op 
portunity  to  offer  me  the  compliment  of  a  dinner : 

WASHINGTON,  Feb.  20th,  1840. 
JOHN  P.  KENNEDY,  ESQ. 

DEAR  SIR: — A  number  of  your  friends  here,  originally  ad 
mirers  of  your  literary  genius,  but  more  recently  close  observ 
ers  of  your  distinguished  career  in  public  life,  would  be  grat 
ified  to  meet  you  sociably  while  at  Washington. 

Among  the  signatures  are  those  of  Webster,  Saltonstall, 
Levi  Lincoln,  John  Sergeant,  Crittenden,  Conway,  Campbell, 
etc. 

In  1843  ne  was  again  elected  to  Congress,  and  that  year 
joined  a  very  pleasant  mess  on  Capitol  Hill.  Winthrop  and 
Bates  of  Massachusetts,  Evans  of  Maine,  Dayton  of  New  Jer 
sey,  and  Grinnell  of  New  York,  formed  the  party  with  members 
of  their  families.  In  his  eloquent  tribute  to  Mr.  Kennedy, 
Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop  says  :  "  His  services  at  Washington 
were  of  the  highest  value  and  importance.  Having  been 
associated  with  him  as  his  second  on  the  Committee  of  Com 
merce,  as  well  as  in  the  intimacies  of  a  common  table  and 
of  apartments  under  a  common  roof,  I  can  bear  personal 
testimony  to  the  diligence  and  ability  which  he  brought  to  the 
public  business.  His  reports  were  elaborate  and  exhaustive  ; 
and  his  speeches 4were  forcible  and  eloquent.  I  cannot  forget 
that  we  were  together,  too,  on  that  Committee,  when,  not  with 
out  hesitation  and  distrust,  the  first  appropriation  was  reported 
to  enable  Mr.  Morse  to  try  the  experiment  between  Washington 


POLITICAL    LIFE.  1  S  [ 

and  Baltimore,  of  that  magnetic  telegraph,  which  now  covers 
our  continent  and  encircles  the  earth.  Though  that  report  was 
written  and  presented  by  another  hand,  it  owed  much  of  its 
success  both  in  Committee  and  in  the  House  to  the  earnest 
support  of  Mr.  Kennedy."* 

In  the  record  of  proceedings  of  the  House  of  Representa 
tives,  February  2ist,  1841,  it  is  stated  that,  "  on  motion  of  Mr. 
Kennedy,  of  Maryland,  the  Committee  took  up  the  bill  to  au 
thorize  a  series  of  experiments  to  be  made  in  order  to  test  the 
merits  of  the  Morse  electro-magnetic  telegraph  ;  the  bill  appro 
priating  thirty  thousand  dollars  to  be  expended  under  the  di 
rection  of  the  Postmaster-General." 

The  resolution  was  opposed  and  ridiculed.  "  To  those," 
said  Mr.  Morse,  in  his  speech  at  the  memorable  banquet  given 
in  his  honor  twenty-seven  years  after,  in  New  York — "  to  those 
who  thus  ridiculed  the  telegraph  it  was  a  chimera,  a  visionary 
dream  rather  to  be  a  matter  of  merriment  than  seriously  enter 
tained.  Men  of  character,  men  of  foresight,  men  of  erudition, 
in  ordinary  affairs,  were  unable  to  forecast  the  future  of  the 
telegraph :  motions  disparaging  to  the  invention  were  made, 
such  as  to  appropriate  part  of  the  sum  for  a  telegraph  to  the 
moon.  The  majority  of  Congress  did  not  consent  in  this  at 
tempt  to  defeat  the  measure  by  ridicule  ;  and  the  bill  was  pass 
ed  by  the  close  vote  of  eighty-nine  to  eighty-three.  A  change 
of  three  votes,  however,  would  have  consigned  the  invention  to 
oblivion.  That  this  was  not  its  fate  is  mainly  due  to  the  per 
severance  and  foresight  of  the  distinguished  member  from 
Maryland,  Hon.  J.  P.  Kennedy,  co-operating  with  those  from 
New  York,  New  Jersey  and  Ohio." 

Defeated  in  1845  as  candidate  for  Congress  on  account 
of  the  partial  transfer  of  the  Whig  vote  to  the  Native  American 
ticket,  in  the  following  year,  to  the  astonishment  of  all  parties, 
when  the  Whigs  insisted  upon  having  his  name  on  the  Assembly 

*  Remarks  of  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop  before  the  Massachusetts 
Historical  Society,  September  8th,  1870. 


182  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

ticket,  he  was  elected  with  two  colleagues,  in  a  city  which  gave 
heavy  majorities  against  Henry  Clay  and  still  heavier  against  the 
Whig  candidate  for  Governor.  The  party  and  the  nation  ac 
knowledged  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  Mr.  Kennedy  for  his  admir 
able  speech — an  exposition  of  the  contrasted  pretensions  and 
practices  of  the  Jackson  faction,  delivered  at  Hagarstown,  Pa., 
on  the  27th  of  September,  1848.  When  reported  in  the  Na 
tional  Intelligencer  of  October  i8th,  it  was  recognized  as  a 
remarkably  authentic  and  condensed  history  of  the  Whig  and 
Locofoco  parties. 

He  was  chosen  Speaker  of  the  Assembly  in  December,  1846, 
and  soon  became  absorbed  in  his  legislative  duties  ;  "  we  have 
been  in  session,"  he  writes  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  that  month, 
"  every  day  this  week,  and  I  have  been  speaking  on  every 
subject." 

The  following  allusions  to  this  period  are  from  his  jour 
nal  : 

"  November,  1846. — When  I  came  home  I  found  the  Whigs 
busy  about  a  nomination  for  candidates  for  all  the  Fall  elec 
tions—State  Senator,  Delegates  and  Mayor.  I  was  a  little 
surprised  to  receive  an  intimation  that  they  intended  to  nomi 
nate  me  for  the  House  of  Delegates.  They  said  if  I  served, 
I  could  carry  the  election  for  myself  and  the  others ;  that 
it  was  only  for  this  winter,  when  I  was  unemployed,  and  that 
it  would  strengthen  me  for  the  Congressional  contest  next  year. 
Now  we  had  not  carried  the  city  for  delegates  more  than  once 
in  ten  years.  The  last  time  was  in  1840,  when  Watson — 
poor  Watson,  killed  at  Monterey — was  elected,  and  after 
wards  made  Speaker  of  the  House.  I  did  not  believe  we 
could  carry  the  town,  but  still  I  couldn't  refuse  to  serve.  But 
we  did  carry  it  after  a  week's  canvass.  One  Senator  and  two 
Delegates  (myself  and  Patterson)  out  of  five, — the  Senator 
elected  by  three  votes — I  by  fifty-nine — out  of  the  whole  city ; 
Patterson  by  some  twenty  votes.  And  here  am  I,  suddenly 
enough,  a  delegate  of  the  State  Legislature  for  this  year. 
Many  members  talk  of  me  for  the  speakership.  I  have  re- 


POLITICAL    LIFE.  183 

ceived  some  letters  asking  if  I  will  accept  of  it.     I  have  an 
swered  yes,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  be  elected  by  the  House. 

"Thursday,  March,  nth,  1847. — The  Legislature  adjourn 
ed  last  night,— or  rather  this  morning  at  three  o'clock.  I  went 
to  Annapolis  on  the  day  of  my  last  entry,  Sunday,  2yth  De 
cember. 

"  On  Monday  the  Legislature  met.  That  evening  the  Whigs 
had  a  caucus  and  unanimously  determined  to  elect  me  Speak 
er  of  the  House.  This  was  accordingly  done  on  Thursday. 
I  made  the  House  a  tolerably  fair  address  on  taking  the  chair, 
and  began  my  new  career  with  very  fair  auspices.  I  suggested 
in  my  address  the  adoption  of  a  new  system  of  rules  con 
formable  to  those  of  the  House  of  Representatives  in  Con 
gress.  The  proposition  was  well  received,  and  I  accordingly 
prepared  for  the  Committee  on  that  subject  the  code  of  rules 
which  was  subsequently  adopted. 

"  My  lodgings  were  at  Mrs.  Green's — her  house  is  the  most 
comfortable,  neat,  and  well-ordered  establishment  I  have  ever 
seen.  Sam  Hambleton,  Dr.  Williams  and  William  Bowie  (a 
Loco)  of  the  Senate,  are  here,  and  Duckett  and  myself  of  the 
House.  Besides  these  we  have  Meredith,  occasionally  John 
son  and  others,  lawyers  of  the  Court  of  Appeals,  and  Judge 
Martin,  a  permanent  lodger,  for  the  winter.  Often  we  have 
been  crowded. 

"  The  session  went  on  very  well,  I  mean  with  but  little  dis 
comfort  to  me,  until  business  thickened  towards  the  close  and 
compelled  me  to  give  a  very  fatiguing  application  from  ten  in 
the  morning  sometimes  until  near  midnight. 

"  In  making  my  Committees  I  took  the  cleverest  young 
men — with  one  or  two  exceptions — for  my  chairmen.  Tom 
Donaldson  I  put  in  the  most  responsible  position,  at  the  head 
of  the  Ways  and  Means,  and  most  admirably  has  he  acquitted 
himself.  We  owe  the  Resumption — the  great  measure  of  the 
session — chiefly  to  him.  Dove  I  assigned  to  the  Internal  Im 
provements,  Duckett  the  Judiciary,  Jones— a  queer  little  fel 
low  of  excellent  talent,  I  made  Chairman  of  the  Corporations ; 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

Turner,  of  Frederick,  who  is  not  a  young  man,  I  placed  at  the 
head  of  Federal  Relations,  Henry,  of  Dorset,  a  very  respecta 
ble  gentleman,  I  set  at  the  head  of  the  Committee  on  Educa 
tion,  etc.,  etc. 

"  With  the  exception  of  the  Ways  and  Means,  the  Judiciary 
and  the  Internal  Improvements,  these  committees  are  mere 
compliments. 

"  Of  the  clever  men  of  the  House,  I  desire  to  remember 
hereafter,  the  following : 

"  Donaldson,  Wickes,  Dove,  Jones,  Henry,  Hopper,  Lamar, 
Swan  (a  Loco) — as  the  cleverest  young  men  of  the  House  in 
point  of  talent, — and  Turner  and  Duckett  as  the  best  of  the 
more  elderly  members. 

"  During  the  winter,  I  frequently  took  part  in  the  debates  of 
the  Committee  of  the  Whole  House,  and  contrived  to  conquer, 
in  a  very  great  degree,  that  extraordinary  trepidation  with 
which  I  am  so  apt  to  be  seized  in  public  assemblages,  when 
obliged  to  make  a  speech.  This  repugnance  to  speaking,  I 
never  felt  in  my  younger  days,  but  I  have  found  it  growing 
upon  me  of  late  to  an  extent  that  I  feared  might  seriously  im 
pair  my  capacity  to  take  my  proper  place  in  public  service. 
I  had  nothing  of  it  this  winter  in  the  Legislature." 

Besides  the  official  duties  which  found  record  from  their 
importance,  during  all  this  period,  Mr.  Kennedy's  time  and 
talents  were  constantly  enlisted  for  the  advancement  of  the 
cause  he  had  at  heart ;  and  his  letters  often  betray  how  irk 
some  were  some  of  his  labors  and  how  constantly  his  private 
tastes  and  personal  comfort  were  sacrificed  for  what  he  believed 
to  be  the  public  welfare.  Thus  writing  to  Philip  Pendleton 
he  says  :  "  Here  have  I  been  through  all  this  red-hot,  yea.,  white- 
heat  weather,  remasticating  the  stale  food  of  a  digested  and 
forgotten  speech — the  most  supereminently  flat  bore  of  an 
occupation  that  ever  man  was  condemned  to.  The  good 
people  here,  my  masters,  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  them 
to  publish  my  '  Remarks.'  I  wish  I  may  be  teetotally  ex- 
fhmctifled  if  I  ever  write  another  dribblet  of  my  brain  that 


POLITICAL    LIFE.  185 

is  dropt  in  any  public  place  again."  In  another  letter  he 
thus  graphically  describes  the  scene  and  the  process  of 
"addressing  the  House."  "The  Hall  has  a  most  unnatural 
vagueness  in  it  for  every  sense  ;  you  hear  nothing  distinctly ; 
you  see  nothing  accurately.  There  is  a  great  tomb-like,  ill- 
timed,  disconcerting  reverberation  over  your^  own  words  from 
the  vault  above  you ;  a  most  diabolical  buzzing  from  sundry  cor 
ners  as  if  fifty  dead  kings  were  mocking  you.  The  speak 
er,  in  your  eyes,  is  a  little  man  in  a  distant  perspective,  envel 
oped  in  drapery  ;  you  are  perfectly  sure  he  does  not  hear  you  ; 
and  his  great  eyes,  which  for  politeness'  sake  he  fixes  upon  you, 
glow  like  one  of  Fuseli's  spectres  from  out  of  the  damask 
curtains.  Then,  in  the  House  itself,  there  is  no  sympathy  ;  no 
nod  of  approbation  to  say — '  I  understand  you/  except  from 
two  or  three  civil  Whig  friends,  who  from  respect  to  the  cause 
and  one  of  its  advocates,  sit  by  near  at  hand,  either  to  be 
mortified  at  your  proclamations  of  corruption  or  to  laugh  at 
your  occasional  attempt  at  a  joke ;  every  Locofoco  has  left 
the  House  except  one— a  grinning,  malignant  sentinel,  to  take 
notes  and  answer  you.  He  sits  close  by,  with  a  snaky  eye  fix 
ed  upon  you  and  a  livid  face, — livid  from  hatred ;  and  every 
now  and  then  laughs  scornfully,  seizes  his  pencil,  ducks  down 
and  writes  like  the  devil  for  thirty  seconds,  and  rises  up  again 
with  the  most  infernal  smile,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  have  got 
you." 

Describing  a  great  mass  meeting  in  Faneuil  Hall,  he 
says,  "  We  marched  in  two  and  two,  like  handcuffed  prisoners, 
and  were  ranged  on  the  platform."  His  idea  of  the  mission 
of  the  party  with  which  he  was  so  long  and  honorably  iden 
tified,  is  well  defined  in  a  letter  to  the  'Whig  Central  Com 
mittee  of  Maryland,  who  had  elected  him  chairman  in  the 
autumn  of  1*853  •'  "  I  concur  with  you  in  your  opinion  of  the 
prospects  of  the  Whig  party.  It  seems  to  be  their  destiny 
to  be  reserved  for  those  periodical  conjunctions,  in  which 
their  adversaries  become  incompetent  to  manage  the  public 
affairs.  The  signs  indicate  that  the  time  is  coming,  and  not 


186  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

far  off,  when  they  will  again  be  invoked,  as  they  often  have 
been  of  old,  to  resume  their  accustomed  and  appropriate  duty 
of  recalling  the  country  to  the  path  of  its  true  progress." 

Mr.  Kennedy  keenly  enjoyed  his  respite  from  official  life 
and  political  work ;  at  Saratoga,  July  3oth,  1853,  occurs  the  fol 
lowing  entry  in  his  journal :  " ,  of  Frederick,  came  yester 
day  ;  he  tells  me  the  Whigs  there  and  of  the  upper  counties 
talk  of  nominating  me  for  Governor.  I  tell  him  I  have  a 
great  aversion  to  entering  public  life  again ;  that  I  don't  wish 
to  be  Governor,  and  would  not  go  through  a  personal  canvass 
to  be  President  of  the  United  States." 

Upon  leaving  Congress,  in  1845,  Mr.  Kennedy,  soon  after 
his  return  home,  was  attacked  by  typhoid  fever,  contracted  in 
Washington  ;  his  friend  Bates  fell  a  victim  to  the  same  disease 
at  the  same  time  ;  and  it  was  many  weeks  before  Mr.  Kennedy 
recovered.  Alluding  in  his  journal  to  the  demise  of  his  two  ex 
cellent  friends  and  political  allies,  Bates  and  Saltonstall,  of 
Massachusetts,  he  says  :  "  They  were  honest,  truthful,  ardent, 
impulsive  and  eloquent ;  men  full  of  love  of  country  and  love 
of  friends  ;  faithful  in  every  emergency  ;  generous  and  brave." 

When  invited  to  stand  for  Senator,  and  canvass  for  the 
nomination,  his  refusal  was  characteristic  :  "  Holding  it  to  be 
a  matter  which  deeply  concerns  my  own  character,  and  my 
desire  to  preserve  the  utmost  personal  independence  as  well 
as  self-respect,  I  not  only  refused  to  take  any  steps  directly  in 
my  own  behalf,  but  also  indirectly  to  engage  the  services  of 
friends.  I  was  content  that  the  question,  as  far  as  I  was 
concerned,  should  rest  upon  the  uninfluenced  suffrages  of  the 
Legislature." 

As  the  eminent  men  and  the  noble  friends  with  whom  he 
had  been  associated  in  public  life,  passed  away,  and  the  lower 
tone  and  less  scrupulous  standard  of  action  which  marked  the 
years  immediately  preceding  the  Rebellion,  began  to  en 
croach  upon  the  integrity  of  our  national  councils,  Mr.  Ken 
nedy,  like  many  of  his  fellow-citizens  of  kindred  principles 
and  character,  became  painfully  conscious  of  the  civic  deca- 


POLITICAL    LIFE.  1ST 

dence.  "  Do  you  remark,"  he  writes  to  his  uncle  Pendleton, 
"  how  lamentably  destitute  the  country  is  of  men  in  public 
station  of  'whom  we  may  speak  with  any  pride  ?  We  have, 
with  very  few  exceptions,  no  man  of  eminent  ability,  none  of 
high  accomplishment,  none  of  lofty  sentiment,  in  any  con 
spicuous  position.  How  completely  has  the  conception  and 
estimate  of  a  gentleman  been  obliterated  from  the  popular 
mind  !  Whatever  of  that  character  we  have  seems  almost 
banished  from  the  stage.  What  a  miserable  array  of  charla 
tans  and  make-believe  statesmen  and  little  clap-trap  dema 
gogues  and  mock  gentlemen  manufactured  out  of  blackguards, 
are  everywhere  in  the  lead  !" 


190  LIFE   OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 

the  early  history  of  the  province,  to  the  effects  of  jealousy  in 
opinion  on  the  local  social  life,  he  adds  the  dramatic  charm  of 
adventurous  foray  and  illicit  trade ;  and  both  of  these  authentic 
agencies  are  ingeniously  blended  with  the  development  of  a  love- 
suit  and  a  careful  and  winsome  picture  of  the  domestic  and  offi 
cial  life  of  the  colony.  The  scenes  thereof  are  characteristic ; 
the  reader  alternates  from  the  tavern  by  the  water  side,  resort 
of  all  the  gossips  of  town  and  country,  to  the  stately  dwelling 
of  the  Lord  Proprietary  ;  from  the  Fort  to  the  Rose  Croft,  a 
charming  rural  home  ;  and  from  the  meeting  of  the  Council  to 
the  haunt  of  smuggling  Corsairs  that  is  guarded  from  intru 
sion  by  tricks  which  awaken  the  superstitious  fears  of  the  people. 
The  holiday  sport  and  the  domestic  ftte,  the  talk  of  soldier, 
priest,  cavalier  and  vagrant,  high  dame  and  humble  servitor, 
reveal  the  ways  of  the  hour,  the  tone  of  the  colonists,  the  faith, 
fancies  and  facts  of  local  history  and  life.  Nor  are  the  char 
acters  less  wisely  chosen  or  less  skilfully  drawn  in  order  to 
complete  and  emphasize  this  pleasant  and  pensive  picture  of 
the  past.  The  cripple,  from  whom  the  tale  derives  its  name  ; 
the  "  martinet  and  free  companion" — Captain  Dauntress,  bred 
in  the  wars  of  the  cavaliers  and  under  Monk  and  Turenne ; 
Weavel,  the  hen-pecked  landlord,  and  his  jolly  dame  Dorothy ; 
Arnold  de  la  Grange,  the  faithful  old  Fleming  wood-ranger  ; 
the  benign  Father  Pierre,  the  stately  Lady  Maria ;  the  hand 
some  and  accomplished  Secretary  of  Lord  Baltimore,  convent- 
bred  but  knightly-born ;  fair,  pure  and  proud  Blanche  Warden ; 
lawless,  vindictive  Cocklescroft,  skipper  of  the  "Olive  Branch ;" 
these  and  the  many  subordinate  characters,  serve  to  represent 
the  social  ranks  and  habitudes  of  the  place  and  the  period  with 
authenticity  and  interest.  Indeed  the  one  critical  objection 
made  to  "  Rob  of  the  Bowl,"  on  its  first  appearance,  was  that 
the  "  characters  are  so  various  and  strongly  marked,  several 
of  them  so  elaborately  finished,  that  the  interest  is  much  divid 
ed,  and  it  has  been  remarked,  with  some  reason,  that  the  story 
wants  a  hero." 

"  Dauntress,"  says  the  critical  journal  already  quoted,  "is  a 


"KOB  OF  THE  BOWL."  191 

sort  of  melting  together  of  Harry  Percy  and  Fat  Jack,  the  Lord 
Proprietory,  Arnold  de  la  Grange,  of  whom  we  have  but  a 
glimpse,  but  an  original  of  great  capabilities  ;  the  landlord,  the 
mountebank  and  his  man,  and  Garret  Weasel,  the  old  priest — 
the  conspirators  and  the  village  tailor — all  capable  of  being 
made  to  stand  out  prominently  from  the  narrative  and  made 
resting-places  for  the  memory,  but  used  as  they  are,  remind  us 
of  a  brilliant  picture,  but  wanting  concentration  of  effect." 

In  this  we  recognize  the  highest  praise ;  the  evident  object 
of  the  author  was  to  draw  from  fact  and  color  from  nature,  the 
life  of  the  time  as  a  whole,  and  not  to  sacrifice  this  unity  of  pur 
pose  to  special  characterization.  In  this  design  he  has  been  re 
markably  successful  •  as  the  same  critic  observes,  "  the  histor 
ical  impression  it  conveys  is  as  accurate  as  the  most  careful 
study  of  the  temper  and  incidents  .of  the  times  enabled  the 
author  to  render  it ;  the  costume  throughout  is  exact  and  in  keep 
ing  •  and  the  descriptions  of  scenery  are  spirited  and  picturesque 
in  an  eminent  degree." 

Mr.  Kennedy's  familiarity  with  the  phenomena  of  American 
politics,  and  especially  his  opportunities,  on  more  than  one  oc 
casion,  to  observe  the  extravagancies  of  a  Presidential  election, 
suggested  the  idea  of  a  political  satire  wherein  many  of  these 
salient  local  traits  and  characteristic  expedients  and  absurdities 
could  be  exhibited  under  an  imaginary  "  local  habitation  and 
name,"  but  with  the  incidents,  characters  and  utterances  drawn 
from  real  life.  Accordingly,  in  1840,  he  published  a  humorous 
chronicle  entitled  "  Quodlibet :  Containing  some  Annals  thereof, 
by  Solomon  Secondthought,  Schoolmaster."  He  describes,  in  a 
niiive  and  magniloquent  style,  the  origin  and  growth  of  its 
aspiring  leaders  and  mongrel  architecture,  the  fun  and  fury  of 
its  political  parties,  with  all  the  bombastic  speeches,  ingenious 
shifts  and  dogmatic  egotism  incident  to  provincial  ambition  in 
a  new  country.  The  supposed  period  included  in  the  story  ex 
tends  from  the  time  of  the  "Removal  of  the  Deposits"  by  General 
Jackson,  to  the  election  of  General  Harrison.  The  Bank  Ques 
tion  is  in  the  ascendant,  and  the  financial  experiment  of  the  "Pa- 


192  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

triotic  Copper-plate  Bank,"  the  career  of  the  Hon.  Midclleton 
Flam  •  the  rise  of  the  New  Lights  ;  the  editorial  rivalry  between 
the  "Whole  Team"  and  the  "  Whole  Hog"  newspapers;  the  Iron- 
railing  Controversy  ;  Agamemnon  Flag's  nomination  ;  the  great 
meeting  at  Sycamore  Spring ;  the  proceedings  of  the  Central 
Committee ;  the  quarrels,  defections  and  suspensions  of  the 
different  parties  ; — the  wonderful  modification  of  the  "  Dem 
ocratic  principle"  and  the  advent  of  the  "  True  Grits" — are  all 
portrayed  with  a  ludicrous  solemnity,  so  as  to  bring  into  view 
the  political  hobbies  born  of  circumstances,  the  rallying  cries, 
extravagances,  virulence,  absurdities  and  impotent  conclusions 
of  partisan  fanaticism.  Although,  from  its  very  nature,  political 
satire  is  ephemeral,  there  are  so  many  facts  and  phases  in  this 
amusing  caricature  which  renew,  if  they  do  not  exactly  repre 
sent,  the  normal  incidents  of  a  political  campaign  in  our  coun 
try,  that  a  permanent  significance  attaches  to  this  faithful 
though  ironical  illustration  thereof.  When  the  work  was  re- 
published,  after  a  lapse  of  twenty  years,  Mr.  Kennedy  observes 
in  the  preface, — "  the  youth  who  have  grown  up  to  manhood 
in  the  mean  time,  and  have  come  to  be  conspicuous  in  the  con 
duct  of  public  affairs,  compose  a  distinct  generation,  as  uncon 
scious  of  the  events,  the  interests  and  sentiments  of  twenty  years 
ago,  as  of  those  of  remote  antiquity ;  they  inaugurate  a  new  era 
of  new  principles,  new  purposes,  new  powers,  new  morals,  and, 
alas !  new  hatreds.  May  it  not  serve  a  good  turn  towards  ar 
resting  this  torrent  of  innovation,  to  present  to  the  leisure  and 
meditation  of  those  who  are  embarking  upon  its  stream,  a  few 
memorials  of  a  by-gone  day?  Is  it  not  worth  while  to  attempt, 
by  these  playful  sketches  of  the  past,  to  lure  the  angry  com 
batants  into  a  smile,  by  showing  them  the  grotesque  retribution 
which  history  inflicts  upon  distempered  parties,  after  a  few  de 
cades  of  oblivion  ?  which  represents  the  engrossment  of  parties, 
who  fancied  that  the  destinies  of  a  great  nation  hung  upon 
the  plots  and  counterplots  of  their  busy  ferment  which  engros- 
ment  twenty  years  have  shrivelled  into  the  dimensions  of  a  pleas 
ant  farce  ?  By  some  unexplained  tidal  law,  parties  would  seem 


"ANNALS  OF  QUODLIBET."  193 

to  move  through  successive  ebb  and  flow  towards  a  final  culmi 
nation  of  mischievous  extreme,  each  refluent  wave  returning 
with  heavier  mass,  until  the  accumulated  weight  of  madness 
and  folly  overtopples,  breaks,  and  dissolves  in  noisy  foam." 
To  exhibit,  on  a  small  scale,  the  process  so  graphically  de 
scribed  in  this  last  sentence,  and  evolve  therefrom,  by  contrast, 
the  permanent  principles  of  statesmanship,  is  the  aim  of  Mr. 
Kennedy's  "  Annals  of  Quodlibet "  The  New  York  Review 
said  of  the  work,  on  its  first  appearance,  that  although  its  inter 
est  "  daily  becomes  less  because  derived  from  the  immediate  ; 
yet,  in  its  sound,  shrewd  and  pungent  remarks,  as  a  satire, 
it  has  our  strong  recommendation ;  the  great  names  to  which 
it  was  attributed,  show  the  opinion  entertained  of  it  by  the 
public ;  we  do  not  know  a  similar  American  work  that  is  to  be 
compared  with  it."  This  was  the  fifth  regular  book  Mr.  Ken 
nedy  published  ;  and  entirely  diverse  in  aim  and  execution  from 
those  which  preceded  it.  Indeed  the  versatility  of  his  talent, 
as  thus  exhibited,  is  quite  as  remarkable  as  the  average  success 
of  the  several  experiments. 

"  Each  of  the  works,"  says  an  eminent  critic,  "  is  marked 
by  distinct  and  happy  peculiarities ;  and  from  internal  evidence 
it  would  probably  have  never  been  surmised  that  they  were  by 
one  author."  When  we  remember  how  active  that  author  was  in 
political  and  social  life,  how  constantly  his  favorite  studies  were 
interrupted  by  the  claims  of  official  duty  and  private  friendship, 
this  prosperous  variety  of  his  literary  work,  is  the  more  re 
markable.  In  an  elaborate  criticism  on  his  writings,  to  which 
we  have  already  referred,  this  subject  is  aptly  noticed. 

"  He  is  mixed  up  with  many  things,"  says  the  New  York 
Review,  "besides  the  production  of  literary  fiction.  As  a 
member  of  the  Legislature  of  Maryland  year  after  year,  pro 
scribed  at  last  because  of  his  activity  in  promoting  schemes 
of  internal  improvement  that  were  not  popular  at  the  particu 
lar  time  ;  a  lawyer  in  active  practice  ;  identifying  himself  with 
the  exciting  controversy  that  was  carried  on  with  reference  to 
a  tariff,  before  the  Compromise  Act  ended  it ;  then  a  member 
9 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

of  Congress,  left  out  with  a  change  of  parties,  to  be  again 
elected, — it  is  plain  that  he  has  had  scant  time  to  study,  frame 
and  perfect  the  novels  which,  during  this  busy  life,  he  lias 
given  to  the  public." 

This  diversion  from  literature  is  to  be  regretted,  because 
of  the  wholesome  and  humane  tone  of  his  mind,  its  patriotic 
spirit,  and  that  sympathetic  and  catholic  charm  which  made 
him,  as  a  writer  as  well  as  a  man,  congenial  to  all  classes. 
Such  authorship  is  very  desirable  in  our  country.  We  have 
many  writers  of  high  finish  and  studied  grace,  who  fail  to  en 
list  popular  sympathy.  One  who  knew  Mr.  Kennedy  thor 
oughly,  and  found  more  of  the  man  in  his  books  than  less 
intimate  and  candid  critics  could  discover,  writes  of  him  : 
"  He  does  not  seek  to  make  too  much  of  a  thought.  His 
muse  has  no  wrinkle  on  her  forehead ;  her  laugh  is  at  the 
same  time  mellow  and  merry,  the  echo  of  a  heart  gentle  and 
gay ;  hers  is  a  familiar  spirit,  and  much  as  she  delights  in 
the  sequestered  haunts  of  nature,  and  fond  as  she  is  of  loiter 
ing  in  her  paths,  she  is  still  more  at  home  in  the  warm  and 
comfortable  abodes  of  man  ;  she  loves  peculiarly  to  gather 
round  the  family  hearth  and  warm  herself  by  the  affections 
that  cluster  there ;  to  preside  at  the  social  board  and  kin 
dle  the  genial  fires  of  good-fellowship  ;  and  she  has  a  heart 
for  still  gentler  things  ;  she  is  thoroughly  conscientious  and 
amiable  ;  she  joins  no  company  but  to  add  to  its  enjoy 
ment."* 

In  1849  appeared  the  "  Life  of  William  Wirt,"  from  the 
pen  of  Mr.  Kennedy.  This  was  alike  a  labor  of  love  and  a 
work  of  interest  and  utility.  In  many  points  of  character 
and  taste  there  existed  a  remarkable  affinity  between  the  bio 
grapher  and  his  subject ;  they  possessed  a  kindred  love  of 
literature,  and  were  endowed  with  social  aptitudes  and  sym 
pathies  at  once  endearing  and  characteristic.  During  Mr. 
Wirt's  practice  at  the  Baltimore  bar,  Mr.  Kennedy  had  be- 


*  Judge  Bryan. 


"THE  LIFE  OF  WIRT."  195 

come  familiar  with  his  professional  triumphs  and  his  personal 
charm  and  worth.  The  principal  sources  of  the  memoir  were 
drawn  from  the  intimate  correspondence  of  Wirt,  from  his 
official  record,  and  the  reminiscences  of  attached  friends.  The 
subject  was  one  eminently  desirable,  as  it  gave  scope  to  the 
delineation  of  a  character  and  career  thoroughly  American  • 
and  described  the  rise  to  fame,  large  usefulness  and  legal 
success,  of  a  man  of  humble  origin,  without  the  advantages  of  a 
college  education  ;  and  who,  by  the  wise  exercise  of  his  talents, 
patient  study,  noble  ambition  and  the  aid  and  encouragement 
of  friends  early  won  by  the  generosity  of  his  heart  and  the 
grace  of  his  manners,  attained  national  distinction,  and  be 
came  an  ornament  and  an  oracle  in  his  profession. 

The  circumstances  under  which  the  work  was  undertaken, 
are  thus  noted  by  the  author : 

December  24,  1843.— Some  time  ago,  Mrs.  Wirt  deposited  a 
large  number  of  papers  containing  the  correspondence,  etc.,  of 
her  late  husband,  Wm.  Wirt,  with  Mr.  J.  Q.  Adams,  who  had 
undertaken  to  write  a  biography  and  edit  these  papers.  After 
retaining  the  collection  for  some  time,  Mr.  Adams  was  obliged, 
very  reluctantly,  as  he  told  me,  to  decline  the  enterprise.  The 
family  have  since  committed  it  to  me,  and  I  have  accepted. 
The  papers  are  all  in  my  possession,  and  I  have  just  began  to 
to  review  them.  I  hope  to  make  some  volumes  of  good  sturT. 
Mr.  Wirt  was  a  very  intimate  and  kind  friend  of  mine,  which 
alone  would  prompt  me  to  this  duty.  But  he  was  a  man  of  a 
very  rich  character,  of  various  interesting  qualities,  and  passed 
a  life  of  attractive  incident,  out  of  which  a  most  engaging 
biography  may  be  made. 

My  plan  is  not  yet  adjusted  ;  but  if  the  correspondence  and 
other  remains  will  enable  me  to  present  a  narrative  in  which 
these  may  be  interwoven,  I  shall  prefer  that  form.  SomQ  few 
hours'  labor  a  day  ought  to  enable  me  .to  get  this  work  before 
the  public  in  the  course  of  the  year.  I  shall  try." 

Mr.  Kennedy  had  delivered  a  Eulogy  on  Wirt,  before  the 
Maryland  Bar,  on  the  twentieth  of  May,  1834.  Of  this  trib- 


190  LIFE    OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 

ute  one  of  his  most  intelligent  auditors  wrote:  "It  not  only 
gave  play  to  the  imagination,  but  distilled  precious  dews  of 
thought  and  feeling,  the  memory  of  which  is  delightful."  Mrs. 
Wirt, writing  to  him  from  Richmond,  July  ist,  1834,  says:  "I 
thank  you  from  my  heart,  my  dear  sir,  for  the  faithful  and  ad 
mirable  delineation  of  my  precious  departed  husband's  charac 
ter  received  from  you,  in  the  form  of  an  oration.  It  is  much 
for  the  wife  of  such  a  husband  to  admit  that  simple  justice  has 
been  rendered  to  his  idolized  memory  ;  the  diction  of  the 
whole  is  so  appropriate,  so  elaborately  elegant,  so  feeling ! 
That  heaven  may  reward  you  is  my  fervid  prayer."  Fifteen 
years  after,  when  Mrs.  Wirt  was  in  straitened  circumstances, 
and  Mr.  Kennedy's  biography  of  her  husband  had  become  re 
munerative,  he  writes  in  his  diary;  "Dec.io,  1849. — I  shall 
remit  half  the  proceeds  of  the  '  Life  of  Wirt'  to  Mrs.  Wirt." 
Chief-Justice  Marshall  thus  expresses  his  appreciation  of 
the  Eulogy : 

RICHMOND,  October,  12, 1834. 

DEAR  SIR  : — I  cannot  permit  myself  to  express  the  gratifi 
cation  I  feel  at  the  just  tribute  you  pay  to  that  tribunal  before 
which  the  subject  of  your  eulogy  appeared  so  often,  "  entrusted 
with  some  of  the  most  important  controversies  that  ever  inter 
ested  the  jurisprudence  of  a  free  country,"  without  making  my 
grateful  acknowledgments  for  the  flattering  and  partial  terms 
in  which  you  speak  of  its  present  presiding  Judge.  He  is 
conscious  of  no  other  claim  to  the  commendation  thct.i  that  of 
endeavoring  to  merit  the  encomium  you  kindly  bestow. 

Allow  me  to  thank  you  for  the  pleasure  the  perusal  of  the 
"  Discourse"  has  given  me,  and  to  assure  you  that  I  am,  most 
respectfully, 

Your  obedient, 

J.  MARSHALL. 

The  recollection  of  his  early  struggles  and  the  difficulties 
which  beset  his  path  in  youth,  created  in  Mr.  Wirt  a  life-long 
sympathy  with  those  similarly  situated  ;  he  always  sought  to 
guide  and  encourage  young  and  baffled  aspirants  for  intellec 
tual  distinction  and  social  advancement ;  and  among  his  letters 


"THE    LIFE    OF    WIRT."  197 

not  the  least  creditable  to  his  judgment  and  his  heart,  are 
those  addressed  to  youths  commencing  their  studies  or  decid 
ing  upon  their  course  in  life  :  accordingly,  the  "  Life  of  Wirt"  is 
most  appropriately  dedicated  by  the  author,  "  To  the  Young 
Men  of  the  United  States  who  seek  for  Guidance  to  an  Honor 
able  Future." 

The  first  edition  of  the  work  was  speedily  exhausted,  and,  in 
the  second,  the  author  made  desirable  revisions.  "  In  the  prep 
aration  of  this  work,"  observes  a  leading  critical  journal,  "  the 
author  had  the  use  of  Mr.  Wirt's  papers,  diaries  and  correspon 
dence.  It  throws  light  upon  much  of  the  political  history  of 
the  times,  and  should  be  consulted  by  the  historical  student." 
"There  is  no  action  and  little  incident,"  says  the  London 
Athcnceum  ;  "  but  Mr.  Kennedy  has  done  what  he  had  to  do 
with  great  ability." 

By  copious  and  judicious  selections  from  the  letters  of  Wirt, 
connected  by  a  clear  and  candid  narrative  of  the  circumstances 
which  inspired  them,  Mr.  Kennedy  has  given  us  an  authentic 
and  attractive  picture  of  a  man  who  won  honor  and  love  by 
virtue  of  rare  qualities  and  faithful  work  ;  and  who  as  frankly 
acknowledged  his  errors  as  he  niiively  confessed  his  ambition  ; 
a  man  who  based  his  happiness  on  domestic  affection,  and 
found  his  chief  delight  in  literature  and  social  pleasure  ;  mean 
while  bravely  devoting  his  time  and  energies  to  the  discharge 
of  professional  duties  ;  and,  in  each  sphere,  attaining  an  honor 
able  and  happy  experience  due  to  his  ardor  of  feeling,  his  rare 
powers  of  expression,  his  high  sense  of  honor  and  a  geniality 
and  gayety  of  temper  rarely  combined  with  such  industry  and 
perseverance.  There  were  in  the  details  of  his  experience  a  les 
son  and  a  law  of  success  ;  only  by  labor  and  probity  could  he 
have  surmounted  the  limits  and  drawbacks  of  his  early  life  ; 
only  by  consistent  fidelity  in  his  gratitude  to  his  first  benefac 
tors  and  his  friendships  of  later  life,  could  he  have  secured  so 
rich  a  heritage  of  personal  regard ;  only  by  severe  mental  dis 
cipline  could  he  have  schooled  his  luxuriant  imagination  to  sub 
serve  the  purposes  of  reason  ;  and  only  by  religious  convictions, 


198  LIFE   OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 

which  gradually  obtained  a  controlling  influence  over  his  mind 
and  character,  could  he  have  so  made  his  life  lovely  at  home 
and  honored  in  the  world.  It  is  noteworthy,  now  that  educa 
tional  theories  are  so  warmly  contested,  that  the  Latin  authors 
and  English  literature  formed  the  discipline  and  the  nutriment 
of  Wirt's  mind ;  they  sufficed  to  make  his  style  effective  and  his 
illustrations  emphatic.  Horace  and  Livy,  Hooker,  Burke  and 
Swift  were  his  familiar  companions ;  and  it  is  significant  of  the 
range  of  his  intellectual  sympathies,  that  in  youth  his  attention 
vibrated  between  Coke  and  Sterne,  and  he  equally  mastered  the 
dry  acumen  of  the  one  and  revelled  in  the  quaint  humor  of  the 
other.  His  letters  exhibit  every  phase  of  his  career,  reveal  his 
tastes  and  his  aspirations,  and  make  manifest  his  principles  of 
action  and  habits  of  life  ;  probation  and  good-fellowship,  rhe 
torical  speculation  and  social  hilarity,  investigation,  ideality, 
love,  friendship  and  taste  alternate  in  his  candid  communion 
with  family  and  friends.  We  follow  his  legal  career  with  keen 
interest  from  his  first  case  in  Virginia  to  the  trial  of  Burr,  with 
which  latter  memorable  event  his  forensic  eloquence  is  histor 
ically  identified  ;  from  the  famous  Cherokee  Case  to  his  appear 
ance  at  the  bar  of  Boston,  where  he  won  the  admiration  of 
Webster  and  Otis  and  the  hearts  of  the  most  cultured  ;  through 
out  his  official  course  as  Attorney-General  of  the  United  States, 
among  his  professional  comrades,  in  his  happy  home,  as  orator, 
statesman,  advocate,  companion,  friend,  husband  and  father, 
we  are  made  to  behold  William  Wirt  as  he  lived  and  felt,  with 
his  faults  and  his  virtues  ;  and  such  are  the  surroundings  of  the 
central  figure,and  so  significant  are  the  attending  circumstances, 
that,  with  the  portrait  of  Wirt,  we  have  a  picture  of  his  times. 
As  the  lives  of  Chief-Justice  Parsons  and  of  Josiah  Quincy  by 
their  sons,  conserve  vivid  and  true  glimpses  of  the  political  and 
social  life  of  New  England  in  the  years  succeeding  the  Revolu 
tion,  this  "  Life  of  Wirt"  seems  a  connecting  link  between  that 
epoch  and  subsequent  times.  As  a  boy  he  saw  the  troops  has 
tening  to  join  Gates  ;  as  a  youth  he  practised  in  the  courts  with 
Patrick  Henry  and  John  Marshall,  and  corresponded  with 


PROVOST 'OF    THE    UNIVERSITY.  109 

Adams  and  Jefferson  ;  and,  later,  was  the  professional  compeer 
of  Webster  and  Clay ;  hence  the  men  and  events  of  the  period 

all  of  special  interest  in   the  political  and   characteristic  in 

the  social  life  of  the  country,  come  into  view  in  the  course  of 
Mr.  Kennedy's  biography;  it  is  full  of  interesting  details  as  to 
the  state  of  the  legal  profession  ;  it  celebrates  the  best  exam 
ples  of  oratory  and  acumen  at  the  bar  and  in  Congress ;  in 
dicates  the  state  of  parties  and  of  public  opinion,  while  its 
main  object  is  never  lost  sight  of  and  the  individuality  of 
William  Wirt  is  frankly  and  faithfully  illustrated,  until  the 
literary  experiments,  legal  triumphs  and  private  graces  of 
•the  author,  lawyer  and  man,  are  completely  made  known 
for  the  satisfaction  and  improvement  of  his  countrymen.  The 
work  is  a  substantial  contribution  to  standard  American  Bi 
ography. 

-  In  the  spring  of  1850  Mr.  Kennedy  was  elected  Provost  of 
the  University  of  Maryland,  and  the  humorous  manner  in  which 
he  dilates  upon  the  fact  in  the  following  letter  is  highly  char 
acteristic  : 

BALTIMORE,  March  24,  1850. 

MY  DEAR  WINTHROP  :— I  have  been  too  busy  to  write 
even  to  Lizzie  Tappan,  but  will  do  that  very  soon. 

I  found  myself  one  morning,  by  some  process  of  which  I 
was  certainly  ignorant,  Provost  of  the  University  of  Maryland. 
I  learned  afterwards  that  old  Dr.  Alexander,  who  has  been  a 
sort  of  locum  tenens  ever  since  the  death  of  Bishop  Kemp,  had 
resigned  this  post,  and  that  the  Regents  coming  together  to 
make  a  new  election,  first  debated  the  point  whether  they 
would  give  it  to  Bishop  Whittingham  and  decided  thereupon 
unanimously  in  the  negative  ;  holding  that  one  layman  was 
worth  a  dozen  priests.  Then  came  the  question  what  layman  ? 
or,  as  I  suppose  from  what  followed,  the  secretary  must  have 
written  it  what  laud-man  ?  which  question  suggested  the  author 
of  the  memoirs  of  Wirt.  So  forthwith  they  went  to  work  and 
made  a  unanimous  job  of  it.  Now,  sir,  think  of  Macaulay 


200  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

Provost  of  Glasgow,  and  then  you  have  one  of  Plutarch's  paral 
lels — quod  notes.  The  election  preceded  the  Commencement, 
which  was  to  be  held  in  a  few  days  ;  and  this  threw  me  into 
a  vortex  of  business  among  the  learned  clerks  of  the  college, 
where  I  had  to  sign  some  diplomas  and  do  sundry  other  pro 
fessional  things  most  strangely  incongruous  with  all  my  habits, 
even  to  the  breaking  up  of  my  billiards  for  two  or  three  even 
ings.  Think  of  a  Provost  with  his  coat  off  at  billiards ! 
Then  I  had  to  meet  the  young  gentlemen  the  evening  before 
Commencement,  to  give  them  the  light  of  my  provostial  or 
prefectial  countenance  at  a  social  entertainment ;  then,  the 
next  day,  Tuesday  last,  a  grand,  glorious  churchful  of  beauti 
ful  girls,  with  the  Germania  band  and  a  great  array  of  Regents 
and  Faculties,  and  seventy-two  diplomas  to  distribute  with 
suitable  words  of  encouragement  and  sage  advice  delivered 
Provost-wise — all  of  which  I  went  through  to  the  minutest 
point  of  customary  observance,  without  flinching.  In  the  midst 
of  this  public  display,  up  rose  a  reverend  clergy,  to  say  that 
a  most  grateful  duty  had  been  assigned  him  ;  and  thereupon 
he  began  to  expatiate  upon  the  singular  merits  of  some  great 
unknown,  whose  incredible  virtues  had  entitled  him  to  a 
kind  of  College  apotheosis,  which  was  appropriately  given 
in  as  a  Resolution  of  the  Regents,  conferring  the  degree  of 
Doctor  of  Laws  upon  John  Pendleton  Kennedy.  There  I 
sat  all  the  time,  expecting  to  hear  the  eulogy  wound  up 
with  the  name  of  Bishop  Whittingham  at  least,  if  not  Pius 
the  Ninth. 

They  had  kept  this  part  of  the  ceremony  a  dead  secret 
from  me,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  very  much  my  surprise,  which 
I  took  occasion  to  express  in  "  a  neat  and  eloquent"  response, 
as  the  papers  have  it ;  and  so  ended  that  morning ;  after  which 
I  took  my  dinner  and  went  to  billiards  with  an  increased  earnest 
ness,  by  way  of  disabusing  my  mind  of  the  humbug  I  had  been 
practising  before  the  world. 

I  don't  know  whether  I  have  done  right  in  accepting  this 
post,  which,  in  many  respects,  is  incompatible  with  my  char- 


LETTER    TO    WINTIIROP.  201 

acter.  There  is  a  make-believe  in  all  these  masquerades 
which  requires  a  better  actor  than  I  am  to  play  off  well  before 
the  world.  That,  however,  I  should  not  mind  so  much,  because, 
by  force  of  study,  I  may  reach  the  art  necessary ;  but  such 
a  position,  in  some  degree,  binds  me  to  the  profession  of  some 
principles  of  conduct  or  deportment  which  I  have  been  accus 
tomed  all  my  life  to  hold  in  utter  neglect.  I  have  a  Theo 
logical  Faculty  to  look  after  as  well  as  the  Medical,  and  a  Law 
Faculty  and  the  Arts  and  Sciences,  which  again  are  connected 
with  a  College  ; — all  of  which  puts  upon  me  the  necessity  of 
a  certain  sobriety  both  of  walk  and  opinion,  which  nature  has 
utterly  denied  me,  and  which  I  shall  not  condescend  to  coun^ 
terfeit ;  so  that  if  you  ever  hear  that  I  have  brought  scandal 
on  the  learned  bodies,  say  that  I  made  a  protest  early  to  you 
against  the  responsibility  of  it.  I  shall  see  how  it  works,  and 
then  determine  how  long  to  hold  it. 

In  the  opposite  scale  from  all  this  stateliness,  I  have  a 
matter  on  hand  now  which  partly  concerns  you.  I  have  the 
charge  of  a  public  dinner  of  the  Historical  Society  of  which  I 
am  Vice-President  and  head  of  a  committee  of  preparations. 
We  are  to  have  it  (the  dinner)  in  about  ten  days,  and  we  want 
you  and  some  other  notables  to  come  over  from  Washington. 
We  have  determined  to  invite  Webster,  Clay,  Cass,  Benton,  Cor- 
win,  Vinton  and  yourself.  Now  I  want  you  to  suggest  to  these 
gentlemen  that  they  are  to  be  invited  as  soon  as  we  settle 
upon  the  day,  which  I  think  will  be  on  the  third  of  April ;  and 
let  me  know  whether  they  will  be  likely  to  come.  I  shall  send 
their  invitations  most  probably  by  Wednesday.  The  day  de 
pends  upon  the  Annual  Address,  which  is  to  be  delivered  by 
one  of  our  members,  who  is  not  yet  quite  ready,  and  we  must 
suit  ourselves  to  his  convenience.  We  shall  have  the  dinner 
late  enough  to  allow  you  all  to  come  over  by  the  evening  train, 
which  gets  here  about  seven.  It  will  do  us  a  great  service 
and  pleasure  both,  to  have  you  here ;  and  what  refreshment  it 
will  be  to  such  a  company  of  patriots  to  breathe  the  pure  air 


202  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

of  our  Union-loving  city,  you,  jaded  and  corrupted  by  the 
quarrels  and  poisons  of  Washington,  will  duly  acknowledge. 
It  is  sufficient  to  say,  by  way  of  inducement,  that  you  shall 
have  an  agreeable  party  to  meet  you  and  a  most  enthusiastic 
greeting." 


INTEREST   IN    THE    YOUNG. 


203 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Mr.  Kennedy's  Interest  in  the  Young  ;  Anecdotes  ;  His  Godson. 

\   REMARKABLE  and  prevalent  trait  of  Mr.  Kennedy,  was 
/\  his  love  of  the  young  ;— a  feeling  warmly  shared  by  the 
affectionate  family  of  which  his  marriage  had  made  him  so 
endeared  a  member.     Even  Charles   Lamb's  "  Dream-Chil 
dren"  did  not  suffice  to  gratify  the  paternal  instinct,  ideal  as 
he  Was,— but  Isola,  the  adopted  daughter  of  the  lonely  broth 
er  and  sister,  blest  their  quiet  home.     Young  people  were  at 
tracted  to  Mr.  Kennedy  by  his  sympathetic  recognition  ;  in 
this  regard  even  fond  parents  are  often  deficient ;  he  inspired 
them  with  confidence,  and  became  their  friend  by  virtue  of  a 
certain   childlike   truth    and   playfulness   in  his    own   nature. 
The  fair  daughters  of  his  friends  were  his  constant  guests  in 
town  and  country,  the  companions  of  his  journeys   at  home 
and  abroad,  his  cherished  proteges,  in  whose  improvement  and 
welfare  he  felt  and  exhibited  the  most  affectionate  interest ; 
while  the  young  men,  among  his  kindred,  the   sons  of  his 
neighbors   and  political   and  personal   friends,  came  frankly 
and  fondly  to  him,  not  only  for  counsel  and  sympathy,  but  for 
companionship.     Even  the  chance  acquaintances  on  journeys 
and  at  watering-places,  among  the  juvenile  aspirants,  sought 
his  friendship  and  cherished  his  society ;  some  became  exact 
ing  correspondents   and  many  the  favorite  recipients  of  his 
kindness.     He  was  a  fond  observer  of  the  young,  and  yet,  like 
Lamb,  always  "  squeamish  in  his  women  and  children."     "I 
hate  boys,"  he  writes,  "  if  they  come  any  thing  short  of  para 
gons  ;  there  is  but  one  slip  between  the  paragon  and  the  imp." 
On  the  eve  of  a  voyage  to  Europe,  he  gives  a  clay  to  helping  one 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

of  his  juvenile  favorites  rig  a  miniature  ship  ;  and  makes  time 
between  a  host  of  business  and  social  engagements,  to  visit  a 
young  girl  who  had  become  his  pet  at  Sharon.  He  notes  the 
character  and  fortunes  of  his  young  friends,  with  the  pride  and 
sympathy  of  a  father ;  and  herein  we  find  another  and  striking 
evidence  of  the  possible  scope  and  grace  of  a  warm  and  fine 
social  character,  in  vindicating  the  instincts  whose  natural 
gratification  has  been  frustrated ;  how  strange  is  the  anomaly 
that,  while,  in  some  natures,  paternity  narrows  the  sympathies, 
in  others  its  absence  creates  a  spontaneous  affection  and  a 
self-imposed  duty,  as  disinterested  as  conscientious !  While  at 
Sharon,  in  the  summer  of  1864,  he  notes  the  favorable  impres 
sion  made  by  a  fair  young  cousin,  whom,  however,  he  had 
adopted  as  a  niece  : 

"  S.  P —  has  been  received  with  distinguished  favor,  and  her 
time  has  been  made  delightful  to  her  by  the  most  flattering  at 
tentions  ;  she  has  been  surrounded  by  admirers,  and  has  con 
ducted  herself  so  well  as  greatly  to  enhance  her  character  in 
my  estimation.  The  novelty  of  a  pretty,  intelligent  and  grace 
ful  young  girl,  noted  for  her  stanch  loyalty  to  the  Union,  and 
coming  from  Virginia,  where  she  has  faced  all  the  danger  and 
trouble  of  the  border  war,  has  given  an  interest  to  her  appear 
ance  here,  which  has  been  largely  increased  by  the  amenity 
and  beauty  of  her  deportment.  I  especially  note  this  impres 
sion  made  by  her,  because  it  is  really  noteworthy  for  the  ex 
tent  and  earnestness  of  the  favor  she  has  elicited  from  old  and 
young."  And  when  the  belle  became  a  bride  and  a  mother, 
Mr.  Kennedy's  affectionate  interest,  which  had  been  manifest 
ed,  all  through  her  childhood,  was  only  the  more  fondly  identi 
fied  with  her  life  and  bestowed  on  her  children,  whose  artless 
companionship  soothed  his  last  days. 

In  illustration  of  this  trait,  the  following  letter  in  reply  to 
one  of  inquiry  as  to  the  prospects  of  a  youth  in  this  country, 
is  suggestive  : 


INTEREST    IN    THE    YOUNG.  2'05 


BALTIMORE,  January  4,  1851. 

MY  DEAR  Miss  DOUGLASS  : — Elizabeth  has  just  given  me 
your  letter  which  she  received  yesterday,  and  I  lose  no  time 
in  complying  with  your  request  in  reference  to  your  young 

friend  Mr. .  It  is  very  difficult  to  predict  the  fortunes  of 

any  man  in  our  country,  and  most  difficult  when  it  concerns 
professional  men.  Success  depends  so  much  upon  personal 
manners  and  tact  in  the  affairs  of  life,  and  often  so  little  upon 
scholarship  and  acquirement,  that  I  can  only,  after  the  manner 
of  a  Yankee,  make  a  guess  in  the  case  of  Mr.  H.  The  high 
character  you  give  him,  certainly  ought  to  place  him  upon  van 
tage  ground  in  the  start.  But  you  know  how  many  mischances 
are  likely  to  beset  the  path  of  those  who  in  this  country  de 
vote  themselves  to  a  literary  career  as  the  means  of  a  liveli 
hood.  Some  of  the  cleverest  men  I  have  met  are  the  most 
helpless. 

Our  schools  and  colleges  are  open  to  all  kinds  of  competi 
tion  among  the  candidates  for  employment,  and  as  alienage 
is  no  impediment  either  in  law,  or  in  public  opinion,  Mr.  H.'s 
opportunities  of  employment  in  that  field,  would  be  as  good  as 
those  of  any  one  else ;  and  from  what  you  say  of  his  accom 
plishment  for  such  service,  might  be  better  than  most  appli 
cants.  But  we  have  so  many  to  look  for  these  places,  and  so 
few  to  vacate  them,  that  the  door  is  not  often  open  at  the  time 
when  a  good  man  takes  his  seat  before  it.  There  is  apt  to  be 
long  delay  and  faint-heartedness  to  the  poor  scholar  before  he 
gets  in. 

The  law  is  a  better  resource  when  the  candidate  is  ready  for 
it, — that  is  to  say,  when  he  has  studied  our  laws  : — I  mean  our 
Statute  law,  and  our  modification  of  the  English  common  law. 
Eloquent  speech  and  elegant  scholarship  hardly  ever  fail  to 
make  that  career  profitable,  and  the  means  of  high  repute  and 
public  honors.  It  has,  however,  a  long  probation  of  hard  work 
and  patient  expectation  before  it  yields  its  fruit  This  espe 
cially  in  the  cities!  Our  great  v/estern  county  often  furnishes 


206  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

the  means  of  sudden  exaltation,  and  always  sure  and  easy 
livelihood.  California  just  now  attracts  the  greatest  share  of 
this  kind  of  adventure,  and  as  nothing  is  old  there,  a  new 
man  may  claim  all  the  honors  of  "the  oldest  inhabitant." 

So,  weighing  all  these  -pros  and  cons  together,  I  can  only 
suggest  to  your  young  friend  that  he  should  make  an  experi 
mental  trip  to  this  country  and  survey  the  ground  for  himself, 
resting  here  upon  the  Atlantic,  and  studying  from  this  point, 
all  behind  us.  He  may  find  a  lucky  stepping-stone  at  once, 
and  have  no  further  trouble.  At  all  events,  he  will  learn  some 
thing  that  may  turn  out  to  be  worth  knowing.  A  good  parlia 
mentary  reporter,  is  almost  always  sure  of  employment,  and  a 
clever  reviewer  may  make  his  bread,  or  help  to  make  it,  with 
his  pen,  which  is  often  as  good  as  a  rolling-pin  in  that  service. 

I  am  quite  rejoiced  to  find,  my  dear  Miss  Douglass,  that 
you  belong  to  that  rare  class,  whom  I  ought  to  value  in  both 
hemispheres,  wherever  they  are  found, — my  "constant  read 
ers,"  and  being  proud  of  such  appreciation,  I  have  set  aside  a 
volume  of  my  new  illustrated  edition  of  "  Swallow  Barn"  to 
send  you, — and  you  shall  also  have  a  neat  pamphlet  copy  of 
the  address  you  speak  of.  You  may  expect  both  of  these  as 
soon  as  we  can  find  an  opportunity  to  transmit  them  to  you. 
With  kindest  remembrance,  believe  me, 

Very  truly  yours, 

J.  P.  KENNEDY. 

A  few  random  extracts  from  his  journal  indicate,  in  a  casu 
al  but  significant  manner,  his  habitual  observation  of  and  inter 
est  in  the  young  : 

"  Among  the  visitors  at  Sharon  was  little  Fanny ,  the 

daughter  of  a  merchant  in  New  York.  Fanny  is  about  eleven 
years  of -age,  a  graceful,  talented,  fine-tempered  child,  who 
attracted  the  regard  of  every  one  at  the  Springs.  This  child 
has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  me.  It  is  my  lot  to  win  kind  affec 
tions  from  many  children  in  my  travels, — and  Fanny  seems  to 
have  formed  a  stronger  attachment  than  most  of  them.  Pet- 


INTEREST    IN    THE    YOUN'O.  207 

ling  her  a  great  deal,  as  I  did,  may  account  for  this.  When 
Elizabeth  and  I  left  Sharon,  we  went  to  Saratoga.  Here,  in 
a  few  days,  I  received  a  purse  which  my  little  friend  had  work 
ed  for  me,  and  which  she  sent  with  a  letter  of  remembrance. 
I  returned  this  civility  by  a  pretty  copy  of  Scott's  Poems,  which 
I  found ;  when  E—  and  I  again  visited  Sharon  in  the  follow 
ing  week,  she  had  carefully  read  it  nearly  all  through.  Since 
my  arrival  at  home,  Fanny  has  been  a  regular  correspondent, 
and  she  and  I  are  now  in  the  habit  of  an  orderly  and  grave 
exchange  of  all  advices  by  letter.  I  have  just  sent  her  this 
day,  the  3ist  Dec.,  1845.  a  little  New  Year's  present,  in  the 
name  of  Mrs.  K— ,  "  Tales  from  Shakspeare,"  by  Miss  Lamb. 

"  Road  to  Capon,  Aug.  7,  1855.— As  we  came  out  of  Win 
chester  we  took  up  a  lad  about  twelve  or  fourteen,  I  should 
think,  son  of  a  gentleman  in  Winchester,— and  whom  we  leave 
at  this  house.  I  mention  him,  because  I  was  greatly  struck 
by  his  intelligence,  and  discreet  and  sensible  characler.  I 
can  hardly  doubt  the  success  of  that  boy  in  life,  and  would 
not  hesitate,  if  I  had  occasion  for  a  trusty  agent  in  almost  any 
employment,  to  take  him  without  further  knowledge  of  him 
than  this  ride  gave  me." 

In  reply  to  a  youthful  application   for   an  autograph,  he 

writes  : 

ELLICOTT'S  MILLS,  MARYLAND,  July  3d,  1852. 
MY  DEAR  YOUNG  SIR  : — To  one  so  early  in  the  field  as 
yourself— "a  boy  of  fifteen"— in  pursuit  of  autographs,  there 
is  an  assurance  of,  at  least,  a  full  harvest,  if  not  a  rich  one. 
In  giving  my  name  to  your  collection  my  chief  motive  is  to 
teach  you,  by  the  example,  the  duty  of  obliging  others,  even 
in  so  small  a  matter  as  this ;  and  to  express  to  you  the  hope, 
that  in  your  pursuit  of  names  more  worthy,  you  may  find 
some  to  inspire  your  ambition  towards  the  achievement  of  a  life 
which  shall  render  your  own  autograph  the  most  valuable  in 
your  catalogue.  Very  truly,  my  young  friend, 

Yours,  J.  P.  KENNEDY. 


208  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

This  interest  in  the  young  soon  found  a  more  systematic 
gratification.  In  an  entry  of  his  journal  dated  May  4^/2,  1853, 
he  writes:  "  I  find  a  letter  from  Bryan,  of  South  Carolina,  inform 
ing  me  that  his  boy  has  just  been  christened  John  P.  K. ;  I  am 
entered  as  sponsor,  of  which  he  sends  me  a  certificate ;  he  has 
succeeded  in  obtaining  a  daguerreotype  of  my  godson,  which  he 
sends  me,  with  a  pleasant  description  of  him  ;"  and  he  replies 
thus  to  his  friend.  "  Thanks,  my  dear  Bryan,  for  the  double 
offering  of  your  letter  and  the  boy.  Consider  me  from  this  time 
forth,  sworn  bottle-holder  for  the  young  pilgrim  in  all  the  rounds 
he  may  have  occasion  hereafter  to  fight  with  Satan,  whether  in 
pitched  battle  or  secret  ambuscade."  Playful  as  is  this  promise, 
it  was  conscientiously  fulfilled  ;  Mr.  Kennedy  assumed  the  care 
and  expense  of  his  godson's  education,  and,  before  he  died,  en- 
. joyed  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  well  advanced,  with  high 
class  rank,  in  his  college  course  at  Princeton.  Two  letters  to 
the  father  and  three  to  the  lad  are  here  given  as  characteristic 
alike  of  his  genial  humor  and  fidelity  to  the  trust  he  had  ac 
cepted. 

WASHINGTON,  Sunday,  Oct,  10, 1852. 

MY  DF.AR  BRYAN  : — In  the  matter  of  the  name — that  has 
been  already  discussed  by  half  the  council,  Miss  Gray  and  her 
father  being  absent ; — and  Mrs.  Kennedy  being  somewhat  au 
thoritative  and  knowing  in  such  questions,  undertakes  to  say, 
that  the  whole  appellation  being  the  only  distinctive  sign  where 
by  the  lad  may  be  traced  through  a  whole  clan  of  ancient  cat- 
tle-stealers  and  blackmail-lifters,  up  to  the  veritable  bottle- 
holder  aforesaid,  she  holds  that  he  is  entitled  to  the  three  letters 
of  the  alphabet  besides  his  cv/n  patronymic.  And  what  especial 
ly  weighs  with  her,  is  a  point  of  luck  which  she  supposes  to  exist 
in  the  combination,  inasmuch  as  there  was  once  a  jolly  little 
parson  in  our  hemisphere  who  signed  his  name  J.  P.  K.  Hen- 
shaw,  whereby — that  is  by  the  J.  P.  K.  prefix — he  became  a 
bishop,  and  went  off  in  an  apoplexy,  owing  more  it  is  supposed, 
however,  to  the  shortness  of  his  neck  than  the  length  of  his 
name,  which  ought  to  have  saved  him  from  it,  if  the  blood  of  his 


HIS    GODSON.  200 

body  had  had  the  slightest  respect  to  that  condition.  For  my 
own  part,  I  think  four  letters  a  great  disparagement  to  a  man, 
and  a  most  serious  discomfiture  if  he  should  come  to  be  secre 
tary  of  the  navy  and  be  obliged,  as  such  animals  are,  to  write  his 
name  in  a  hurry  a  hundred  times  a  day,  But  if  the  luck  holds 
out  and  he  should  be  a  bishop,  that  will  make  a  different  case, 
and  the  longitude  may  be  a  perfect  delight — for  these  people 
have  leisure,  and  find  pleasure  in  tagging  on  prefixes,  and  suf 
fixes  and  surplusages  and  pluralities  ad  infinitum,  as  a  positive 
luxury. 

Tristram  Shandy  is  a  warning  on  this  point  which  ought  to 
be  historically  considered  in  the  debate  of  the  question ;  as  it 
is  well  known  that  all  his  misfortunes,  from  beginning  to  end, 
were  clearly  traceable  to  the  effect  of  that  accident  which  de 
feated  the  family  hopes  and  deprived  him  of  the  stately  and 
protracted  Trismegistus,  which  is  fully  equal  to  J.  P.  K.  And 
with  these  hints  I  leave  the  subject  to  further  advisement  be 
tween  you  and  your  wife,  with  such  aid  as  I  can  get  hereafter 
from  a  consultation  in  full  council.  We  are  here — I  mean  Mrs. 
K.  and  myself—just  planted  in  our  own  home — quite  a  comfort 
able  one,  and  I  add,  especially  for  your  edification,  with  an 
abundance  of  room  in  it  for  a  friend — which  insinuation  I  hope 
you  will  turn  some  day  to  our  mutual  benefit. 

ELLIOTT'S  MILLS,  June  1G,  1853. 

MY  DEAR  BRYAN  : — Upon  opening  the  parcel  there  was  your 
letter  of  the  8th  with  a  very  pleasant  announcement  of  our  boy,  ' 
and  with  it  the  boy  himself  "in  little,"  as  Hamlet  says — a  most 
delicious,  juicy,  Bryan  pulp,  lustrous  with  all  the  delightful  ra 
diance  of  infancy.  A  truly  exquisite  gem  of  the  ebony  and  to 
paz  compound,  so  life-like  and  so  jocund  that  it  set  Mrs.  K. 
and  her  sister  and  a  bevy  of  young  girls  here,  when  I  opened 
it  to  them,  into  a  laugh  of  merry  rapture.  Accept,  my  dear 
Bryan,  our  combined,  multitudinous,  and  tumultuary, — for 
that  was  the  ruling  sentiment  of  the  moment — acknowledg 
ments  of  the  pleasure  of  this  missive.  It  is  a  fac-simile  that 


210  LIFE    OF    JOHN    I\  KENNEDY. 

speaks  for  itself,  true  as  the  sun  ; — in  fact,  no  counterfeit  or 
copy  at  all,  but  actual  emanations  from  the  boy  all  and  sundry, 
little  radiating  atoms  emitted  from  his  own  surface,  borrowing 
a  phantasmic  and  spectral  other  self,  z  anoaoraai^ — as  the 
metaphysical  Fathers  of  the  Church  call  it — being  an  actual  eon, 
or  real  emanation  of  the  identical  J.  P.  K.  B.  himself,  as  au 
thentic  as  the  figure  called  up  by  the  Witch  of  Endor,  and  a 
thousand  times  more  true  as  a  revelation,  than  John  C.  Cal- 
houn's  performance  on  Tallmadge's  guitar,  or  those  exhibitions 
of  the  great  Nullifico  in  campanology  wherein  he  made  a  dent 
in  the  breakfast-table  with  a  dinner  bell.  I  hold  this  daguer 
reotype,  therefore,  as  an  'alter  ego'  sent  me  by  my  vicarious  pro 
geny,  only  second  in  value  to  the  consummate  flower  itself.  In 
deed,  I  don't  know,  considering  the  whooping-cough,  croups, 
measles,  mumps,  and  tooth  cuttings,  with  their  necessary  con 
comitants  of  midnight  squalls  and  mid-day  squeals  ;  the  watch- 
ings,  wearyings,  and  monotonous  drumming  of  forced  lullabies  j 
the  squills,  lotions,  pills  and  potions,  and  all  that  congrega 
ted  series  of  fretful  and  peevish  categorical  contingencies  of 
human  progress  in  its  first  attempts  to  earn  a  diploma  as  a 
citizen  of  the  United  States,  and  the  inevitable  prescription  of 
pounds  of  prevention  to  secure  an  exemption  from  the  many 
more  pounds  of  cure,  before  a  boy  is  fairly  guaranteed  as  a 
safe  commodity  and  has  won  a  title  to  breeches — I  say,  consider 
ing  all  these  things  with  due  and  proper  amplification  and  my  in 
experience  in  them,  and  fortunate  or  unfortunate  (for  that  is 
a  debatable  point)  immunity  hitherto  in  regard  to  them — I  say 
again,  considering  all  this,  it  admits  good  scope  for  argument 
whether  I,  with  this  aTroaa-aaig  on  plated  steel,  have  not  the 
best  of  the  boy  for  at  least  the  next  five  years.  There  he  is,  a 
mild,  decorous,  genial  and  unchangeable  little  beauty,  lying  qui 
etly,  without  noise,  ailment  or  ache,  upon  the  centre-table,  a 
veritable  cynosure  for  neighboring  eyes,  untouched  by  the  frail 
ties  of  human  condition — whilst  you  have  him  in  Carolina,  in  per 
petual  metamorphosis,  sprawling,  floundering,  and  topsy-turvy- 
ing  his  bodv  and  limbs  into  similitudes  of  all  the  letters  of  the 


HIS    GODSON.  211 

alphabet,  and  demonstrating  all  sorts  of  natural  problems  in  a 
succession  of  figures  and  angles  on  the  carpet,  that  would  make 
old  Euclid  think  he  had  but  half-way  come  to  the  bottom  of 
his  geometry.  These  antics,  my  dear  Bryan,  I  have  no  doubt 
you  have  found  already,  if  not,  you  will  find  it — have  topics 
of  study  in  them  which  will  mate  and  perhaps  overmatch  all 
the  philosophy  you  can  muster.  Mrs.  B.  will  think  otherwise 
and  will  a  thousand  times  make  me  welcome  to  my  phantasm, 
while  she  has  the  ducking,  rinsing,  drying  and  curling  of  the 
young  cupid  as  the  pleasantest  of  her  daily  cares — or  rather, 
not  to  offend  her  by  a  word  so  inappropriate  to  her  perception 
of  it — her  daily  delights.  Well,  God  speed  you  and  her  in  this 
new  vocation,  and  bring  the  little  transaction  to  the  highest 
round  of  honor,  glory  and  happiness  both  in  this  world  and 
the  next ! 

BALTIMORE,  March  10, 1859. 

MY  DEAR  NAMESAKE  AND  GODSON: — What  are  you 
about  ?  Have  you  read  Sandford  and  Merton,  and  wouldn't 
you  like  to  pitch  into  Robinson  Crusoe  ?  If  you  say  yes,  let 
me  know  it  by  letter,  and  I  will  send  you  Robinson  Crusoe 
by  the  first  opportunity.  Is  not  that  a  hard  word  for  a  boy  of 
your  age  to  swallow?  Do  you  believe  that  the  Pope  of  Rome 
wouldn't  let  me  write  to  you  ?  He  looked  very  hard  at  me 
one  day  out  of  the  corner  of  his  left  eye,  but  I  can't  say  he 
intended  by  that  to  let  me  understand  that  he  thought  you  a 
dangerous  person,  although  I  am  quite  sure  if  he  had  seen 
your  letter  to  me,  he  would  have  been  anxious  to  know  some 
thing  about  you.  He  is  very  fond  of  little  Jews,  and  takes  great 
care  that  neither  their  fathers  nor  godfathers  shall  write  to  them, 
if  he  can  help  it.  But  as  he  does  not  know  that  you  are  a  Jew, 
which  I  should  tell  him  in  a  moment,  if  he  were  to  ask  me, 
you  are  NOT — I  think  he  will  let  you  alone.  When  you  grow 
up  to  be  a  man  you  can  go  to  Rome  yourself  and  look  into 
this  business.  What  I  want  to  know  particularly  is,  how  do 
you  get  on  with  your  studies  ?  Can  you  write  without  the 


212  .LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

lines  ruled  on  your  paper,  and  when  you  do  write,  do  you  put 
your  left  cheek  on  the  table  and  shut  one  eye  and  put  your 
tongue  out  of  your  mouth  ?  If  you  do  these  things,  it  is  a 
proof  that  you  will  want  lines  to  keep  you  straight.  But 
never  mind  that,  you  will  get  all  right  by  and  by,  and  so,  I 
beg  you,  to  go  on  reading  and  writing  and  ciphering  like  fun, 
until  you  can  do  all  these  as  well  as  your  father.  I  hope 
some  of  these  days  your  father  and  mother  will  bring  you 
and  the  other  boys  and  girls  here  to  Maryland  to  see  us,  and 
help  to  get  the  Whig  party  on  its  legs  once  more.  You  can 
make  a  speech  which  I  know  will  have  a  good  effect  in  our 
family,  and  I  advise  you  now  to  write  one  out  as  soon  as  pos 
sible,  and  send  it  to  me  that  I  may  show  it  to  Mrs.  Kennedy 
and  her  sister,  and  keep  them  posted  up.  I  have  no  room 
now  to  write  you  more,  but  will  send  you  Robinson  Crusoe, 
and  Sandford  and  Merton,  too,  if  you  say  the  word.  You 
must  give  our  love  to  mamma  and  pa,  and  all  the  girls  and 
boys  of  the  family.  Your  loving  godfather, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  May  16, 1859. 
To  JOHN  PENDLETON  KENNEDY  BRYAN,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  GODSON  :— I  dare  say  you  think  I  am  a  very 
slow  coach  for  being  so  long  in  bringing  you  the  books  I 
promised  you  last  winter.  And  I  think  I  am.  But  if  I  was 
your  age,  and  had  nothing  more  to  do  than  you  have,  I  should 
drive  faster  and  take  things  along  quicker.  Here  I  have  had 
Robinson  Crusoe  and  Sandford  and  Merton  ready  for  you 
more  than  a  month,  and  have  not  sent  them  yet.  I  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  myself;  and  so  I  would  be  if  I  hadn't  the 
rheumatism,  and  so  cannot  walk  about  town  to  get  the  express 
to  carry  the  books  to  you.  But  now  I  am  determined  they 
shall  go  very  soon,  and  therefore  I  write  you  this  to  keep  a 
sharp  look-out.  I  have  no  doubt  that  they  will  come  to  you 
some  morning  before  you  are  up,  and  will  catch  you  napping. 
When  you  get  them  you  must  first  look  at  the  pictures,  and 


LETTERS    TO    HIS    GODSON".  213 

then  go  manfully  to  work  and  read  them  straight  through. 
You  will  find  Tommy  Merton  and  Harry  Sandford  two  very 
nice  boys ;  and  old  Robinson  Crusoe  I  want  you  to  know  very 
well,  for  he  is  a  fine  fellow  and  an  old  friend  of  mine  ;  so  do 
you  shake  hands  with  him  every  morning.  You  must  tell  me, 
after  you  have  read  these  books,  what  you  think  of  them,which 
I  hope  you  will  do  in  a  long  letter. 

BALTIMORE,  October  17, 1860. 

MY  DEAR  GODSON  : — You  are  a  fine  boy ;  and  as  every 
body  knows  you  are  one,  I  think  it  is  a  great  shame  that 
I  should  have  two  of  your  letters  on  my  table,  one  of  them 
more  than  six  months  old,  to  answer  at  the  same  time.  You 
wrote  to  me  on  the  3oth  of  March  last,  and  I  dare  say  have 
been  scolding  at  me  like  fun  all  the  time  I  haven't  been  an 
swering  it.  But  as  I  judge  from  your  sending  the  poppinachy 
(what  did  you  put  in  that_y  for  after  the  /$?  Did  you  suppose 
I  could  pronounce  such  a  jaw-breaker  ?)  you  intended  to  sig 
nify  that  you  forgave  me,  and  wanted  to  heap  coals  of  fire  on 
my  head.  Well,  I  gave  the  poppinachy  to  Mrs.  Kennedy,  and 
when  she  took  it  she  asked  me  what  it  was,  and  I  told  her  it 
was  a  poppinachy,  which  I  did  with  a  screw  of  my  mouth,  and 
she  thought  it  a  very  strange  sort  of  a  name  for  such  a  sweet 
scented  flower.  But  she  took  it  and  went  right  off  last  night 
to  Miss  Kate  Pennington's  wedding,  which  was  a  great  affair, 
with  lots  of  eating  and  drinking,  and  flounces  and  ruffles  and 
hoops.  I  guess  we  had  fun,  and  I  as  lame  all  the  time  as  a 
crippled  duck.  The  doctor  has  told  me  I  must  lie  down  and 
keep  still  for  two  months,  and  here  I  am  beginning  it  to-day, 
feeling  as  if  I  was  an  old  ship  sent  into  dock  for  repairs. 
I  tell  you  I  don't  like  it.  Your  father,  after  he  left  poor 
George,  who  is  going  some  of  these  days  to  be  a  commodore, 
and  wears  a  sword  now,  with  a  gold  band  round  his  cap,  went 
down  to  Richmond,  and  got  to  be  a  great  man  by  going  to  church 
with  the  Prince  and  afterwards  taking  tea  with  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle.  I  tell  you  what,  it  isn't  every  boy  who  has  a 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

father  that  touches  elbows  with  boy  kings  and  old  dukes.  I 
am  glad  you  liked  the  pictures,  and  sorry  you  had  the  break- 
bone  fever.  Ain't  the  pictures  real  smashers?  Those  fel 
lows  running  races  down  hill  and  tumbling  over  each  other, 
first-rate.  Don't  you  see  how  they  hurrah  and  dash  on  and 
send  the  other  fellows  head  over  heels  into  the  pond  ?  Isn't 
that  prime  ?  Tell  your  father  to  keep  that  little  State  of  yours 
cool,  and  make  her  mind  her  eye  and  not  be  so  waspish,  or 
some  of  these  fine  days  George  will  be  coming  round  there 
in  the  Constitution  and  give  her  Jessy — which  means  fits  ;  for 
next  year  George  will  belong  to  old  Abe,  and  will  have  to 
cock  his  beaver  and  look  as  fine  as  a  bantam  if  old  Abe  tells 
him  to  go  down  to  Fort  Moultrie  and  let  fly,  which  George  will 
do,  you  may  depend,  if  he  gets  his  dander  up. 

Now  I  have  told  you  all  I  have  to  say,  except  to  give  my 
love  and  Mrs.  K.'s  to  your  mother  and  father,  and  Arthur  and 
Rebecca,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  clan.  You  must  read  your 
books,  and  learn  to  cipher,  and  study  geography,  and  stand  up 
to  your  lessons  like  a  hero.  Tell  me  all  about  that  poppin- 
achy — how  they  plant  it,  and  when  it  blossoms,  and  every 
thing  else,  and  then  send  me  some  of  the  seed. 

Your  affectionate  godfather, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

PARIS,  HOTEL  DE  WESTMINSTER,) 

11  Rue  de  la  Paix, 
Monday,  November  12,  18GO. ) 

MY  DEAR  KENNY  : — I  dare  say  you  think  I  am  no  great 
shakes  of  a  godfather  when  I  don't  write  you  a  single  line 
in  reply  to  the  kind  messages  you  send  me  in  your  letters. 
1  Well,  I  acknowledge  the  corn,  and  am  entirely  at  your  mercy. 
I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  I  couldn't  write.  If  that  was  true,  what  an  excellent  ex 
cuse  it  would  give  me  for  not  doing  it.  But  the  fact  is,  my 
dear  boy,  I  have  grown  to  be  a  terrible  delinquent  in  this 
matter  of  leaving  undone  the  things  I  ought  to  do,  although  I 


LETTERS   .TO    HIS    GODSOX.  215 

have  a  pretty  fair  set-off  against  that  sin  in  the  improvement 
I  have  made  in  not  doing  so  many  things  that  I  ought  not  to 
do.  Such  old  fogies  as  your  father  and  I  grow  more  vigorous 
and  virtuous,  every  clay  in  not  doing,  which  is  rather  my  forte 
just  now,  my  real  excuse  for  not  writing.  I  will  confess  it 
confidentially  to  you,  and  you  may  tell  it  in  the  same  confi 
dence  to  your  father — for  I  owe  him  half  a  dozen  letters — my 
real  excuse  is  that  until  1  had  travelled  over  all  Switzerland 
and  one  half  of  Germany  I  hadn't  time  enough  to  write  more 
than  one  letter  a  month,  and  as  that  was  not  equal  to  one 
tenth  of  what  I  wanted  to  write,  I  gave  up  the  business  alto 
gether — giving  up  the  whole  matter  to  Mrs.  K.,  who  has  writ 
ten  to  you  and  to  your  mother  two  or  three  times  since  we  left 
home.  So  now  you  have  the  whole  case  before  you,  and  you 
must  make  up  your  verdict.  I  have  always  been  greatly 
pleased  with  your  letters,  because  in  every  one  I  see  how 
steadily  you  go  upward  on  the  inclined  plane  of  your  educa 
tion,  and  ho  wv  noble  your  aspirations  are  towards  an  honorable 
fame. 

Excelsior — Excelsior — is  the  true  word  to  wear  upon  your 
breast.  Take  your  staff  in  your  hand  and  push  forward  up 
the  hill  with  a  sturdy  step.  Drive  onward  till  the  sweat  pours 
down  your  cheek — wipe  it  away  and  go  on.  You  have  a 
grand  prize  waiting  for  you  at  the  top  if  you  get  there — and 
get  there  you  will,  if  you  step  out  and  go  ahead  when  the  lazy 
or  the  light  fellows  with -you,  sit  down  to  enjoy  the  roadside. 
Sweat  and  muscle  are  sure  to  win  the  day.  That  is  as  old  a 
truth  as  Horace,  and  much  older.  Qiii  studet  optatam  cursu 
contingere  metam,  sudavit  ct  alsit  et  abstinuit  vino.  That  is 
the  recipe  for  making  Washingtons  and  Hamiltons  and  Lin- 
coins.  "Work  while  it  is  called  day:  for  the  time  cometh 
when  no  man  can  work." 

Be  very  careful,  my  boy,  also  to  remember  while  you  give 
your  heart  to  your  studies,  that  there  is  no  help  for  you  so 
constantly  at  hand,  so  cheering  and  so  certain  to  lift  you  up 
day  by  day  to  a  better  life,  as  the  love  of  your  Creator.  Be- 


216  LIFE    OF   JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 

seech  Him,  on  your  knees,  night  and  morning,  to  be  your 
friend — study  his  commandments  as  he  has  sent  them  to  us 
by  his  Son,  and  faithfully  obey  them— and  you  may  be  sure 
you  will  want  no  good  thing.  Let  me  hear  from  you  when 
you  receive  this.  I  hope  you  have  every  thing  comfortable 
around  you.  If  any  thing  is  wanting  let  me  know.  I  shall  feel 
very  proud  to  learn  that  you  are  at  the  head  of  your  class  and 
able  to  keep  the  lead.  We  have  had  a  very  pleasant  summer 
in  wandering  through  the  Alps,  in  which  my  health  has  been 
greatly  strengthened.  Mrs.  K.  is  at  present  just  recovering 
from  a  severe  illness  that  has  confined  her  to  her  bed  for  a 
fortnight.  We  think  it  is  well  over,  and  that  she  will  soon  be 
out  again.  We  all  talk  of  you  very  often  and  with  great  inter 
est  in  your  welfare.  The  ladies  send  their  love,  and  desire 
you  to  remember  them  most  kindly  to  your  father  and  mother. 
In  all  of  which  I  unite,  and  am  very  affectionately, 

Your  godfather, 

JOHN.  P.  KENNEDY. 


SECRETARY    OF   THE    NAVY.  217 


CHAPTER  X. 

Mr.  Kennedy  appointed  Secretary  of  the  Navy;  Enters  upon  his 
duties  ;  Naval  Expeditions  ;  Dr.  Kane's  search  for  Sir  John  Frank 
lin  ;  Ericsson's  trial  trip ;  Irving's  Visit ;  Departure  from  Wash 
ington  ;  Death  of  Mrs.  Fillmore ;  Visit  to  Green  way  Court ;  Jour 
ney  to  the  Southwest. 

FROM  the  time  Mr.  Fillmore  succeeded  General  Taylor 
in  the  Presidential  office,  the  desire  and  intention  of  in 
viting  Mr.  Kennedy  to  become  a  member  of  the  Cabinet,  were 
frequently  announced.  Indeed,  these  reports  found  their  way 
into  the  newspapers,  and  his  appointment,  first  as  Secretary  of 
the  Interior,  and  then  of  the  Navy,  were  so  confidently  stated 
that  he  was  subjected  to  some  official  visits,  in  anticipation, 
which  would  have  been  annoying  to  a  man  not  inclined  to 
take  a  humorous  view  of  such  attentions.  His  friends,  too, 
offered  premature  congratulations ;  and  were  somewhat  puz 
zled  that  no  definite  information  on  the  subject  had  reached 
him.  At  one  time  it  seemed  as  if  political  animosity  inter 
fered  with  the  avowed  purpose  of  the  Executive.  , 

"  I  care  very  little  for  the  appointment,"  he  writes  in  the 
autumn  of  1850  ;  "but  I  am  not  willing  to  be  disparaged  by 
men  who  are  working  against  me  in  private.  I  suspect  the 
Baltimore  faction,  who  have  always  been  enemies  of  mine,  of 
interfering  on  this  occasion."  It  appeared  in  the  sequel,  that 
the  Cabinet  were  a  unit  in  their  desire  to  associate  Mr.  Ken 
nedy  with  their  councils,  and  that  Mr.  Webster,  especially, 
was  urgent  therefor ;  the  delay  seems  to  have  arisen  from  the 
fact  that  it  had  been  decided  to  await  Mr.  Graham^s  voluntary 
resignation.  Meanwhile,  Mr.  Kennedy  was  occupied  with  his 
10 


218  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

private  affairs  ;  and  when  the  news  of  his  appointment  reached 
him  at  midsummer,  while  at  Saratoga,  it  took  him  by  surprise. 
The  promptness  with  which  he  entered  upon  his  new  duties, 
and  the  facility  with  which  he  discharged  them,  is  alike  char 
acteristic  of  the  man  and  the  country.  Under  date  of  August 
26th,  1850,  he  writes  :  "  My  determination  to  accept  the  ap 
pointment  if  offered,  I  have  adopted,- after  a  conversation  with 
Mr.  Gray  and  the  family,  who,  I  find,  are  warmly  bent  upon  my 
doing  so,  if  occasion  should  offer.  Mr.  Gray  not  only  makes 
no  objection,  but  simply  entreats  that  I  will  not  refuse." 
This  deference  to  the  wishes  of  his  household  is  accordant 
with  the  uniform  precedence  he  gave  to  domestic  over  per 
sonal  considerations ;  home  was  the  first,  as  it  was  the  most 
precious  sphere  of  his  life ;  and  he  had  hesitated,  in  this  in 
stance,  as  to  the  expediency  of  assuming  official  duties,  be 
cause  of  the  precarious  health  of  Mr.  Gray. 

The  following  correspondence  and  extracts  from  his  diary, 
relate  all  the  circumstances  of  his  entrance  upon  new  official 
duties : 

Saratoga,  July  20,  1852. — After  breakfast  the  maid  brings 
me  the  following  letter  : 

EXECUTIVE  CHAMBER,        ) 
WASHINGTON,  July  16th,  1852.  j 
HON.  JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : — Mr.  Graham  has  tendered  his  resignation  of 
the  office  of  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  and  I  take  great  pleasure 
in  offering  the  place  to  you.  In  soliciting  your  acceptance  of 
this  I  feel  that  I  am  not  only  acting  in  accordance  with  my 
own  judgment  and  wishes,  but  those  of  my  entire  Cabinet, 
and,  if  I  may  credit  the  pul}lic  press,  which  has  anticipated  me 
on  this  subject, — of  the  whole  country.  Mr.  Graham's  desire 
to  be  released  at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  induces  me  to 
ask  a  response  at  your  earliest  convenience. 

I  am,  your  ob't  serv't, 

MlLLARD    FlLLMORE. 

I  immediately  wrote,  the  following  answer. 


SEC11KTARY    OF    THE    NAVY.  219 

SARATOGA  SPRINGS,  July  20th,  1852. 

TO  MlLLARD  FlLLMORE, 

President  of  the  United  States. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : — Your  letter  of  the  i6th  has  only  reached 
me  this  morning,  having  followed  me  from  Baltimore  to  this 
place,  where  I  have  been  with  my  family  for  some  days  past. 

I  need  not  assure  you,  my  dear  sir,  with  what  sincere  pleas 
ure  I  receive  this  proof  of  your  good  opinion,  coming  to  me, 
as  it  does,  not  only  from  a  Chief  Magistrate  in  whose  adminis 
tration  the  country  has  found  so  much  to  admire  and  applaud, 
but  also  from  a  friend  with  whose  public  and  private  life  I  have 
had  so  many  cherished  associations. 

I  very  cordially  accept  the  honor  you  have  tendered  me  in 
the  offer  of  the  control  of  the  Navy  Department,  and  will  ap 
ply  myself  to  the  discharge  of  its  duties  with  an  earnest  pur 
pose  to  merit  the  confidence  you  have  reposed  in  me. 

As  soon  as  I  can  make  the  arrangements  necessary  to  my 
journey, — which  may  detain  me  here  till  day  after  to-morrow, — 
I  shall  repair  to  Washington  to  make  my  respects  in  person, 
and  to  relieve  Mr.  Graham  from  his  present  position.  By  Sun 
day  or  Monday  next,  at  the  latest,  I  hope  to  be  with  you.  In 
the  mean  time,  I  beg  to  repeat  my  grateful  acknowledgments 
of  your  kind  consideration,  and  to  express  my  gratification  at 
the  unanimity  with  which  the  Cabinet  has  approved  your  selec 
tion  ;  and  to  assure  you,  my  dear  sir,  of  the  respect  and  esteem 
with  which  I  am,  very  truly, 

Your  obd't  serv't, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

SARATOGA  SPRINGS,  July  20, 1852. 
MRS.  NANCY  C.  KENNEDY. 

My  DEAR  MOTHER  :— I  know  you  will  like  to  hear  that — 
after  all  the  reports  and  denials  of  the  papers,  which  have  been 
very  full  of  puffs  of  my  many  hitherto  undiscovered  virtues — I 
have  received  Mr.  Fillmore's  invitation  to  take  the  control  of  the 
Navy  Department,  and  that  I  have  accepted  it.  I  am  not 


220  LIFE  OF  JOHN  r.  KENNEDY. 

much  versed  in  this  Executive  business,  but  I  suppose  I  shall 
learn  that  as  I  have  done  other  things,  and  get  on  without 
much  trouble.  I  have  the  consolation  to  know  that  I  shall  not 
be  required  to  serve  more  than  some  seven  or  eight  months, 
when  a  new  administration  will  call  on  new  men. 

I  found  the  papers  so  peremptory  on  the  subject  in  New 
York,  where  we  staid  two  days  on  our  way  hither,  that  I  had 
official  calls  tendered  to  me  by  officers  in  command,  and  was 
obliged  to  beg  them  to  reserve  their  ceremonies  for  those  bet 
ter  entitled,  for  I  had  received  no  notice  from  any  quarter 
which  could  leave  me  reason  to  believe  tMt  the  President 
contemplated  offering  me  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet.  I  ought  to 
except  a  communication  in  Baltimore  from  a  friend,  who  I 
thought  was  guessing,  although  it  turns  out  that  he  spoke  cor 
rectly.  The  result  of  it  all  is  that  I  must  get  to  Washington 
immediately  and  go  to  work,  which  I  shall  do  as  soon  as  I  can." 

Washington,  July  24,  1852.— Call  on  the  President  at  eight; 
find  Mrs.  Fillmore  and  her  daughter  in  the  drawing-room. 
Mr.  Fillmore  comes  in,  and,  after  a  very  kind  reception,  tells 
me  that  he  is  holding  a  Cabinet  Council,  and  says  I  may  as 
well  begin  at  once  and  join  them  in  consultation.  I  go  with 
him  to  the  Council  Chamber,  where  I  find  Conrad,  the  Secreta 
ry  of  War,  Stuart  of  the  Interior,  and  Postmaster-General  Hall. 
Presently  Crittenden  came  in.  The  subject  is  the  difficulty 
with  England  on  the  subject  of  the  Fisheries.  The  Ministry 
in  England  have  sent  several  armed  vessels  to  the  coast  of 
Nova  Scotia  and  Newfoundland  with  orders  to  seize  all  Amer 
ican  fishing  vessels  which  may  be  found  fishing  within  the 
limits  interdicted  by  the  treaty  of  1818.  They  have  recently 
seized  some  two  or  three  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  which  has  caused 
immense  excitement  in  New  England.  Mason  and  others, 
opposed  to  the  Administration,  in  the  Senate,have  made  violent 
speeches,  treating  the  seizures  as  a  great  outrage,  and  demand 
ing  that  the  Government  send  cruisers  there  to  protect  our 
fishermen.  Mr.  Webster,  who  is  in  Boston,  has  issued  a  kind 
of  manifesto  on  the  subject,  warning  our  fishermen  against  any 


SECRETARY   OF   THE   NAVY.  221 

real  infringement  of  the  treaty,  and  rather  intimating  a  doubt 
as  to  the  lawfulness  of  the  seizure.  Crampton,  the  British 
Minister,  has  followed  him  to  Boston  with  a  view  to  some  dis 
cussion  of  the  subject.  Mr.  W.  has  asked  the  President — by 
telegraph  this  evening — whether  he  shall  give  notice  to  the 
Colonial  authorities  to  warn  them  against  any  seizures.  This 
despatch  is  the  subject  of  debate.  It  is  decided  that  this  Gov 
ernment  should  not  discuss  the  question  with  the  Colonial 
Government,  but  with  the  British  Minister  ;  and  it  is  thought 
Mr.  W.  ought  to  come  here  to  Washington  and  consult  with 
the  President.  We  read  Lord  Aberdeen's  letter  to  Mr.  Ever 
ett,  in  1845,  in  which  the  Ministry  consent  to  a  relaxation  of 
the  restrictions  of  the  treaty  so  far  as  to  allow  our  people  to 
fish  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy.  The  English  interpretation  of  the 
treaty  seems  to  be  clearly  correct :  and  all  that  we  can  com 
plain  of  is  the  rather  brusque  manner  in  which  they  have  so 
suddenly  determined  to  enforce  their  restrictions.  We,  how 
ever,  have  no  authentic  statement  of  facts,  and  all  judgment 
may  be  now  premature. 

July  26, 1852. — Mr.  Graham,  my  predecessor,  calls,  and  we 
have  a  full  and  confidential  conference  on  the  affairs  of  the 
Navy  Department. 

July  27,  1852. — At  eleven  the  President  sends  for  me,  to 
say  that  it  has  become  necessary  to  send  a  ship  of  war  to  the 
fishing  grounds  to  examine  into  the  subjects  of  complaint  and 
excitement  there,  and  wants  to  know  how  soon  I  can  have  one. 
I  tell  him  the  steamer  Mississippi,  Captain  McCluney,  is  now 
ready  for  sea  in  New  York.  She  is  prepared  for  the  Japan 
Expedition.  He  directs  me  to  telegraph  McCluney  to  have 
the  ship  in  sailing  trim  and  ready  for  orders.  He  tells  me 
that  it  is  necessary  to  prepare  a  letter  of  instructions  for  the 
officer  who  is  to  take  charge  of  the  cruise,  in  which  he  desires 
me  to  make  a  review  of  the  fishing  question,  and  the  respective 
rights  of  England  and  the  United  States  under  the  treaties  of 
1783  and  1818,  and  then  to  give  such  instructions  as  may  be  ne 
cessary  to  protect  our  people  against  illegal  seizure  by  the  British 


222  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

force,  and  also  to  warn  such  of  our  people  as  may  have  viola 
ted  the  treaty  of  1818  against  the  consequences  of  their  con 
duct.  The  President  suggests  that  Commodore  Perry,  who  is 
commander  of  the  Japan  squadron,  had  better  be  sent  in  the 
Mississippi.  I  send  on  orders  by  telegraph  to  have  the  ship 
ready.  See  Perry,  and  advise  him  that  he  will  have  to  set  out 
perhaps  to-morrow.  Then  to  my  office  to  write  the  instruc 
tions,  which  I  find  very  difficult  to  do,  amidst  the  thousand  in 
terruptions  I  have  there.  I  throw  together  the  outlines.  I 
shut  myself  up  and  write  till  twelve.  With  an  exhausted  brain 
and  a  disturbed  nervous  system,  I  go  to  bed,  and  get  but  little 
sleep  j  my  head  with  a  dull  weight  in  it — and  dream  of  the  trea 
ties,  Lord  Aberdeen,  and  the  codfish." 

Mr.  Fillmore's  administration,  in  a  calm  and  candid  retro 
spect,  must  be  recognized  as  having  been  guided  by  motives 
of  genuine  patriotism ;  given  proofs  of  real  ability  and  use 
fulness,  and,  while  his  own  character  for  probity  and  faithfulness 
has  never  been  doubted,  every  member  of  his  Cabinet  was  more 
or  less  a  public  favorite.  Many  important  measures  signalized 
their  term  of  office  ;  among  them  the  reduction  of  inland  post 
age  ;  the  establishment  of  an  agricultural  bureau ;  the  opening  of 
commercial  transit  between  the  Mississippi  and  the  Pacific ; 
the  institution  of  marine  and  military  hospitals  ;  the  triumph  of 
the  non-intervention  principle  over  the  popular  excitement  in 
cident  to  the  visit  of  Kossuth  ;  reform  of  the  land  laws  ;  the  en 
actment  of  a  moderate  tariff;  the  extension  of  the  Capitol  and 
the  introduction  of  water  into  Washington  ;  the  initiation  of  tel 
egraphic  communication,  and  several  memorable  and  successful 
expeditions  by  the  Navy  of  the  United  States.  These  great 
public  benefits  were  well  fitted  to  engage  the  sympathies  and 
co-operation  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  liberal  mind ;  and  with  those, 
especially  connected  with  or  emanating  from  his  own  depart 
ment,  his  name  will  always  be  honorably  identified. 

"  Crittenden  tells  me,"  he  writes,  "  that  my  debut  in  the 
Cabinet  was  quite  brilliant,  and  quite  gratifying  to  the  Presi 
dent  ;  and  that  I  might  not  have  found  in  a  whole  year,  a  more 


SECRETARY    OF    THE    NAVY.  223 

delicate  and  difficult  piece  of  business  than  was  committed 
to  me." 

Although  he  undertook  his  new  duties  at  a  season  of  the 
year  and  in  a  state  of  health  which  would  have  discouraged  a 
less  buoyant  nature,  he  entered  upon  them  with  a  zeal  and  in 
telligence  which  surprised  even  his  most  intimate  friends.    The 
old  officers  of  the  navy  were  astonished  at  his  immediate  recog 
nition  of  the  need  of  certain  reforms,  especially  in  the  medical 
department,  which  he,  at  once,  advocated  and  carried  out. 
His  reports,  correspondence,  plans,  attention  to  details,  sym 
pathy  with  official  enterprise  ;  his  methodical  industry  and  the 
care  with  which  he  made  himself  acquainted  with  ships,  offi 
cers,  claims,  and  every  thing  connected  with  the  honor  and  util 
ity  of  the  service,  won  him  the  confidence  and  respect,  and,  in 
many  instances,  the  strong  personal  affection  of  the  best  men 
in  the  navy.     His  journal,  at  this  time,  indicates  the  greatest 
activity,  and  he  notes,  with  obvious  zest,  his  arrangements  for 
the  different  exploring  expeditions  ;  his  conversations  with  the 
officers,  his  plans  and  purposes  for  the  advancement  of  the  ser 
vice,  and  his  visits  to  the  principal  navy  yards  in  the  country. 
It  is  pleasant  to  observe  the  national  pride  and  pleasure  where 
with  he  engages  in  all  this  work.     The  expeditions  either  initia 
ted  or  carried  out  during  his  brief  service  as  Secretary  of  the 
Navy,  are  those  of  Commodore  Perry  to  Japan  ;  of  Lieutenant 
Lynch  to  the  interior  of  Africa,  of  Captain  Ringold  to  the  China 
Sea,  and  of  the  Water  Witch  to  the  La  Platte.    The  outfit,  man 
ning,  and  instructions  were  both  liberal  and  sagacious,  and  the 
respective  commanders  warmly  acknowledge  their  obligations 
to  the  Secretary  for  his  scientific  zeal  as  well  as  his  official  cour 
tesy.     One  of  Ringold's  ships  was  named  for  him  ;  and  in  no 
ting  his  visit  to  the  little  squadron  before  she  sailed,  he  says  : 
"  his  ship  is  in  beautiful  order,  with  the  finest  company  of  young 
officers  the  country  can  supply."     Among  Mr.  Kennedy's  let 
ters  of  this  period  is  an  elaborate  and  exact  description  of  Cap 
tain  Ericsson's  ship  and  a  strong  plea  in  behalf  of  a  fair  trial  of 
his  new  motive  power ;  an  experiment  which  was  tried,  at  last, 


22-1  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

mainly  through  the  patient  intervention  of  the  Secretary,  who 
secured,  in  its  behalf,  the  scientific  endorsement  of  Professors 
Bache  and  Henry.  He  thus  mentions  a  trial  trip  with  a  party 
of  friends : 

Washington,  Feb.  27,  1853. — Meantime  I  told  Ericsson  to 
have  the  vessel  ready  on  Thursday  morning,  the  24th,  and  that 
I  would  visit  her  with  a  party  of  friends.  I  accordingly  di 
rected  the  Vixen  to  be  ready  at  the  navy  yard  at  eleven,  on 
Thursday,  and  I  invited  the  President  and  the  Cabinet,  Mr. 
Pierce,  who  had  recently  arrived,  the  heads  of  my  Bureau,  and 
several  officers  of  the  navy.  At  the  appointed  hour  we  all 
met  at  the  yard,  and  embarking  on  the  Vixen,  we  ran  down 
to  Alexandria,  and  then  got  on  board  the  caloric  vessel. 
Captain  Ericsson  and  his  friends  were  on  board.  She  is  a 
very  beautiful  vessel,  rigged  as  a  brig,  1900  tons,  and  superbly 
fitted  up  for  the  accommodation  of  passengers.  Her  engine 
occupied  one  sixth  of  the  deck.  It  was  kept  in  motion  all 
the  time  we  were  on  board.  Captain  E.  was  very  minute 
in  his  explanations.  We  had  Mr.  President  Fillmore  and 
his  elect  successor,  Mr.  Pierce,  Captain  E.  and  myself,  and 
Mr.  Everett,  all  riding  together  up  and  down  on  the  piston, — 
rather  an  amusing  and  rare  inauguration  of  a  new  invention. 
Washington  Irving  and  Thackeray  were  also  with  me  at  my 
invitation.  Everybody  was  delighted  with  the  beauty  of  the 
vessel  and  the  operation  of  the  engine.  After  some  time 
spent  in  the  survey,  we  returned  to  the  saloon,  where  we  had  a 
sumptuous  collation,  beautifully  served.  An  hour  was  spent 
here,  and  at  near  three  o'clock  we  re-embarked  in  the  Vixen 
and  returned  to  Washington." 

How  fully  occupied  he  was  officially  and  socially  is  sug 
gested  in  this  note  to  his  father-in-law : 

NAVY  DEPARTMENT,  Jan.  25tli,  1853. 
To  EDWARD  GRAY,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  GOOD  FRIEND  : — I  would  have  written  sooner 
but  for  the  constant  dogging  at  my  heels  of  the  hosts  who 


SECRETARY    OF    THE    NAVY.  225 

come  for  business,  and  the  high-steam  pressure  of  the  young 
girls  staying  with  us,  to  keep  pace  with  them  in  the  pursuit  of 
what  they  call  pleasure.  Irving,  too,  is  such  a  lion  that  I  am 
kept  at  a  gallop  to  overtake  the  engagements  he  puts  upon 
me.  On  the  whole,  I  am  a  hard  driven  man. 

We  have  dinners  every  day,  and  sometimes  have  to  refuse 
two  for  the  same  day. 

Irving  was  invited  to  dine  next  Wednesday  at  the  Post- 
Master  General's  ;  the  invitation  came  ten  days  ahead,  and  he 
has  accepted,  as  he  says,  "  if  he  is  spared."  Love  to  Mart. 
God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend. 

J.  P.  KENNEDY. 

To  Mr.  Kennedy's  warm  personal  interest  in  his  enterprise, 
Dr.  Kane  owed  the  association  of  the  Grinnell  Expedition  in 
search  of  Sir  John  Franklin,  with  government  aid  and  author 
ity.  By  an  order  issued  on  the  twenty-seventh  of  November, 
1852,  Dr.  Kane  was  placed  on  special  duty,  and  directed  to  re 
port  to  the  Department.  Ten  men  belonging  to  the  navy 
were  attached  to  his  command  under  government  pay ;  ap 
paratus  from  the  Medical  Bureau,  rations,  and  other  requisites 
for  the  voyage,  were  selected  ;  and  every  facility  given  within 
the  power  of  the  Secretary  to  bestow.  Dr.  Kane's  letters  to 
Mr.  Kennedy  testify  his  grateful  sense  of  this  substantial  aid 
and  timely  encouragement. 

Amid  the  lonely  icebergs  of  the  Arctic  Sea  the  intrepid  ex 
plorer  was  mindful  of  his  friend,  and  Kennedy  Channel  pre 
serves  his  name  on  the  charts ;  while  on  a  piece  of  jasper  brought 
from  the  farthest  point  of  his  exploration,  the  father  of  Kane, 
after  the  latter's  death,  had  an  appropriate  design  carved  and 
set  in  a  ring,  which  he  sent  to  Mr.  Kennedy  as  a  memorial  of 
his  son.  But  more  distant  associations  sprung  from  this  disin 
terested  sympathy  with  the  object  of  the  Expedition.  It  was 
the  cause  of  much  pleasant  intercourse  with  Lady  Franklin  and 
some  of  the  lords  of  the  Admiralty.  The  following  letters 
belong  to  this  period  : 
10* 


226  LIFE  OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


HON.  JOHN  P.  KENNEDY,  Secretary  of  the  Navy. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : — If  any  thing  can  move  our  national  body 
to  co-operate  with  the  scientific  ends  of  our  little  expedition,  it 
will  be  your  eloquent  exposition  of  its  claims.     * 
I  am,  faithfully,  your  servant, 

E.  K.  KANE. 
PHILADELPHIA,  Dec,  9, 1852. 

BALTIMORE,  MARYLAND,  UNITED  STATES,  ) 
May  7,  1853.  \ 

To  LADY  FRANKLIN. 

MY  DEAR  MADAM  : — I  owe  you  an  apology  for  this  delay 
in  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  your  kind  notes  of  the  nth 
of  February  and  4th  of  March  ;  but  I  am  sure  you  will  excuse 
me  when  I  tell  you  that  the  extreme  pressure  of  my  official 
business  during  the  last  month  of  Mr.  Fillmore's  administration, 
absolutely  denied  me  the  leisure  necessary  to  so  agreeable  a 
duty ;  and  that  ill  health,  since  my  resignation,  has  forbidden, 
until  now,  even  the  light  application  to  my  desk  that  would  en 
able  me  to  thank  you  for  your  attention.  I  am,  after  this  long 
rest,  restored  to  health,  and  happy  to  make  amends  for  my  in 
voluntary  neglect. 

I  duly  received  the  document  of  the  House  of  Commons,— 
the  communications  of  the  Admiralty  on  the  Arctic  Expedition 
under  the  Command  of  Sir  Edward  Belcher, — and  sent  the  ad 
ditional  copy  to  Dr.  Kane.  After  this  also  came  the  very 
gratifying  note  from  the  Admiralty  which  you  were  so  good  as 
to  transmit  with  your  last  letter,  and  the  copies  of  Mr.  Kenne 
dy's  narrative  of  the  second  voyage  of  the  Prince  Albert,  of 
which  I  sent  the  two  directed  to  Mr.  Grinnell  to  him  in  New 
York.  Allow  me,  my  dear  madam,  to  repeat  my  thanks  for 
thy  last  favor,  which  is  most  gratefully  received. 

Mr.  Grinnell's  present  expedition,  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you, 
is  temporarily  delayed  by  the  illness  of  our  excellent  friend 
Dr.  Kane,  whose  labors  during  the  winter,  extremely  severe 
and  of  a  nature  to  confine  him  too  much  to  his  study,  have 
brought  him  an  attack  of  inflammatory  rheumatism,  most  inop- 


SECRETARY    OF    THE    NAVY.  227 

portunely  just  now.  But  I  understand  he  is  getting  better,  and 
Mr.  Grinnell  has  hopes  that  his  expedition — which,  in  all  other 
respects  is  entirely  ready — will  be  able  'to  sail  by  the  2oth  of 
this  month.  I  fervently  hope  that  it  may  not  be  longer  detained, 
and  that  it  will  soon  be  actively  engaged  in  the  benevolent 
service  to  which  it  is  destined.  Great  interest  is  felt  through- 

O 

out  this  country  in  its  departure,  and  it  will  be  attended  with 
the  prayers  of  the  nation  for  its  success. 

May  I  beg  you  to  present  my  respects  to  the  gentlemen  of 
the  Admiralty  for  the  liberal  sentiment,  in  favor  of  Mr.  Grin 
nell,  conveyed  in  the  letter  you  did  me  the  honor  to  send  to  me, 
and  to  say  that  we  have  the  most  entire  confidence  that,  when 
opportunity  and  means  may  serve,  they  will  do  full  justice  to 
the  claims  of  Lieutenant  De  Haven  in  his  Arctic  discovery. 

It  will  always  give  me  great  pleasure  to  promote  any  wish 
you  may  have  in  reference  to  co-operation  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic,  and  to  receive  from  you  a  continuation  of  such  favors 
as  you  have  already  done  me.  With  sentiments  of  the  highest 
respect,  I  am,  my  dear  madam, 

Very  truly,  your  ob't  serv't, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  May  17,  1853. 
HON.  JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  KENNEDY  : — After  a  cruel  attack  of  inflam 
matory  rheumatism,  and  three  weeks  of  complete  helplessness 
on  my  beam  ends,  I  find  myself  ready  to  start.  We  leave 
next  week. 

You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  my  delay  has  not  as  yet  inter 
fered  with  our  piospects.  My  late  letter  from  Lady  Franklin 
speaks  of  Inglefield  as  not  yet  leaving,  and  the  Baffin  Bay  ice 
as  probably  still  fast. 

Your  successor,  Dobbin,  has  given  me  the  kind  assurance 
that  he  will  not  undo  your  work, — an  assurance  which,  while 
it  showed  very  clearly  that  he  was  indisposed  to  add  to  it,  at 
least  enables  Mr.  Grinnell  and  myself  to  recognize  you  alone 
as  the  centre  of  obligation.  In  fact,  locofoco  as  I  am,  I  can 
not  but  feel  that  my  little  party  belongs  to  another  administra 
tion  ;  and  I  hope  that  you  will  not  be  bored  if  I  show  my  rec- 


228  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.   KILXNEDY. 

ognition  of  your  personal   agency  by  a  regular  bulletin  from 
the  land  of  ice. 

My  father  was  much  mortified  that  you  should  have  pass 
ed  through  our  city  without  seeing  us.  Dr.  Dunglison's  intima 
tion  of  your  presence  arrived  too  late  for  a  call. 

Would  you  do  me  the  favor  to  loan  me,  for  a  few  days, 
the  "Reports  on  Grinnell  Land."  I  am  obliged  to  tax  my 
father  with  the  revision  of  my  book,  and  he  wants  the  notes 
as  material  for  a  chapter. 

My  dislike  to  say  good-by,  has  made  me  garrulous.  May  I, 
my  dear  sir,  thank  you  for  your  many  courtesies,  and  ask  you 
to  join  me  in  the  hope  that  a  creditable  return  will  enable  me 
to  do  justice  to  your  liberality.  With  my  best  regards  to  Mrs. 
Kennedy,  I  am,  faithfully,  your  friend, 

E.  K.  KANE. 


HALL  OF  THE  AMERICAN  PHILOSOPHICAL  SOCIETY,} 
Dec.  17,  1852.  F 

SIR  : — I  have  the  honor  to  transmit  to  you,  by  direction  of 
the  American  Philosophical  Society,  a  copy  of  the  following 
resolutions,  which  were  passed  unanimously  at  a  meeting  held 
this  evening.  I  am,  sir,  with  great  respect, 

Your  obed't,  humble  servant, 

R.  DUNGLISON, 
Sec.  of  the  Am.  Phil.  Society. 

Resolved, — That  the  American  Philosophical  Society  highly 
appreciates  the  enlightened  zeal  exhibited  by  the  Hon.  John  P. 
Kennedy,  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  in  the  furtherance  of  scientif 
ic  inquiry,  and  in  the  declaration  contained  in  his  recent  An 
nual  Report,  "  that  constant  employment  of  ships  and  men,  in 
the  promotion  of  valuable  public  interests,  whether  in  defence 
of  the  honor  of  our  flag  or  the  exploration  of  the  field  of  dis 
covery  and  the  opening  of  new  channels  of  trade,  or  in  the  en 
larging  of  the  boundaries  of  science,  will,  he  is  convinced, 
be  recognized  both  by  the  government  and  the  people,  as  the 
true  and  proper  vocation  of  the  Navy ;  and  as  the  means  best 
calculated  to  nurse  and  strengthen  the  gallant  devotion  to  duty, 


SECRETARY    OF    THE    NAVY.  229 

which  is  so  essential  to  the  character  of  accomplished  officers 
and  so  indispensable  to  the  effectiveness  of  the  Naval  organi 
zation.7' 

Resolved, — That  while  this  Society  experiences  the  deepest 
interest  in  the  scientific  and  other  advantages  to  be  derived  from 
the  various  exploratory  expeditions  that  have  been  recently  in 
stituted,  and  some  of  which  are  in  progress,  its  sympathies  are 
especially  enlisted  in  the  success  of  one  emanating  from  the  phi 
lanthropy  and  munificence  of  two  individuals  of  our  country,  and 
which  is  to  be  under  the  guidance  of  an  enterprising  and  ac 
complished  member  of  this  Society,  already  celebrated  for  his 
adventurous  energy  in  the  same  cause,  and  whose  services  have 
been  especially  enlisted  by  the  distinguished  lady  whose  per 
severing  efforts  for  the  discovery  of  her  lost  husband,  will  trans 
mit  her  name  to  all  times  as  that  of  a  model  of  energetic  and 
affectionate  devotion  ; — and,  that  it  has  been  a  source  of  grati 
fication  to  this  Society,  that  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy  should 
have  sanctioned,  with  so  much  promptness,  the  new  expedition 
by  granting  the  necessary  permission  to  Dr.  Kane  to  be  on 
special  service,  as  well  as  by  the  liberal  and  appropriate  recom 
mendation  to  Congress,  that  should  it  become  requisite  in  the 
field  of  operations  to  which  he  is  destined — "to  provide  him 
with  means  for  the  prosecution  of  scientific  discovery  beyond 
those  which  may  be  afforded  by  the  Department,  and  the  lib 
erality  of  the  distinguished  gentlemen  who  have  assumed  the 
charge  of  this  expedition,  that  that  body  will  respond  to  the 
suggestions  of  this  necessity  with  a  prompt  appreciation  and 
generous  support  of  an  undertaking  so  honorable  to  humanity, 
and  so  useful  to  the  enlargement  of  liberal  science." 


NAVY  DEPARTMENT, 
WASHINGTON,  Jan.  2, 1853. 
To  R.  DUNGLISON,  ESQ. 

SIR  : — I  have  to  ask  the  indulgence  of  the  American  Phi  • 
losophical  Society  for  this  delay  in  acknowledging  the  receipt 
of  their  resolutions  passed  on  the  i;th  ult.  I  beg  you  to  im- 


230  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

pute  it  only  to  the  constant  occupation  which  my  official  duties 
impose  upon  me. 

It  is  with  the  most  lively  gratitude  I  receive  this  high  tes 
timonial  of  the  approbation  with  which  that  learned  body  has 
regarded  my  efforts  in  the  administration  of  this  Department 
towards  "  the  furtherance  of  scientific  inquiries,"  and  their  ap 
preciation  of  the  opinion  I  have  expressed  in  respect  to  the 
employment  of  the  Navy  in  that  service. 

It  is  most  gratifying  to  me  also  to  learn  that  the  Society  so 
fully  concurs  with  me  in  the  propriety  of  the  co-operation  of 
this  Department  in  the  new  expedition  to  the  Arctic  circle  which 
is  about  to  set  forth  under  the  auspices  of  two  of  our  country 
men,  whose  names  are  already  honorably  illustrated  by  their 
philanthropy  and  munificence. 

In  affording  Dr.  Kane  the  opportunity  to  join  that  expedi 
tion,  I  feel  that  I  have  done  no  more  than  justice  to  the  expec 
tations  of  the  country  in  contributing  to  this  interesting  and 
brave  enterprise  the  aid  of  a  gentleman  whose  past  labors  in 
the  same  service  have  shown  how  appropriately  the  pursuit  of 
practical  science  is  graced  and  sustained  by  the  intrepidity  and 
perseverance  of  an  accomplished  naval  officer.  The  Society 
of  which  he  is  a  member,  I  hope  will  find  upon  his  safe  return 
from  the  voyage  he  is  about  to  undertake,  new  motives  to  hon 
or  his  zeal  in  the  exploration  of  the  field  of  philosophical  ob 
servation  ;  to  applaud  his  generous  industry,  I  would  also  add, 
and  to  celebrate  his  success  in  a  noble  and  world-renowned  un 
dertaking  of  humanity. 

I  beg  to  assure  the  Society  I  shall  lose  no  opportunity  my 
station  may  afford  me,  to  urge  upon  Congress  the  most  liberal 
consideration  of  the  cause  in  which  he  is  engaged.  In  return 
ing  my  thanks  for  the  very  distinguished  compliment  I  have  re 
ceived  from  the  Society  in  the  resolutions  with  which  they  have 
honored  me,  allow  me  to  add  my  acknowledgment  of  the  kind 
ness  with  which  you  have  communicated  them,  and  believe  me, 
with  the  highest  consideration  and  respect, 

Your  ob'd't  serv't,      J.  P.  KENNEDY. 


SECRETARY    OF    THE    NAVY.  231 

Dr.  Kane's,  last  word  before  sailing,  was  to  ask  the  Secre 
tary  of  the  Navy  to  send  for  them  if  no  news  came  after  a  cer 
tain  period  had  elapsed ;  and  the  letter  announcing  his  safety 
was  hailed  with  delight ;  he  therein  begged  Mr.  Kennedy  to 
explain  to  Lady  Franklin  why  he  did  not  undertake  another 
voyage  in  search  of  Sir  John.  When  his  funeral  rites  were 
celebrated  at  Baltimore,  and  the  citizens  convened  to  do  hon 
or  to  his  memory,  Mr.  Kennedy,  in  the  course  of  an  eloquent 
tribute,  said  :  "  A  gentler  spirit  and  a  braver  were  never  united 
in  one  bosom.  He  possessed  the  modest  reserve  of  the  stu 
dent  with  the  ardent  love  of  adventure  and  daring,  which  dis 
tinguished  the  most  romantic  sons  of  chivalry.  With  equal 
zeal  and  ability  he  pursued  the  attainment  of  science  and  the 
hardest  toil  of  experience." 

His  sympathy  for  the  bereaved  family  found  expression  in 
the  following  letter : 

BALTIMORE,  April  20, 1857. 
JUDGE  KANF. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : — I  had  hoped  for  the  gratification  of  meet 
ing  you  on  that  sad  occasion  when  I  was  called  to  unite  in  the 
public  manifestation  of.  the  grief  of  this  city,  upon  the  death  of 
your  admirable  and  gallant  son.  I  had  hoped  to  be  able  then 
to  express  to  you  personally  my  own  profound  sympathy  with 
you  in  a  bereavement  which  brought  to  you  an  anguish  incom 
parably  more  acute  than  that  which  touched  the  heart  of  this 
community,  and  which  their  profuse  public  honors  to  the  dead, 
could  only  serfe  to  increase  by  the  painful  excitement  they 
produced. 

Now  that  these  rites  have  been  performed,  and  time  has 
been  allowed  for  reflection,  I  trust  that  the  remembrance  of 
them  will  bring  solace  to  your  sufferings  and  help  to  reconcile 
your  household  to  a  loss  which,  greatly  as  it  may  afflict  your 
family  circle,  is  not  without  many  persuasions  of  resignation 
and  content.  It  was  the  happy  fortune  of  your  son  to  achieve 
in  youth  a  fame  which  the  oldest  and  the  best  would  be  proud 


232  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

to  win,  and  which  the  noblest  natures  might  envy  even  at  the 
price  at  which  it  has  been  secured. 

For  his  personal  endowments  of  mind  and  disposition,  I 
have  never  found  a  man  more  worthy  of  esteem  and  friend 
ship  than  he ;  for  his  public  service,  and  the  brave  and  devout 
spirit  of  duty  in  which  it  was  rendered,  through  perils  and  hard 
ships  the  most  appalling,  he  has  scarcely  an  equal,  and,  cer 
tainly,  no  superior  in  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 

A  finer  union  of  the  gentle  virtues  of  the  heart  with  a  na 
ture  that  never  shrank  before  the  terrors  of  the  hardiest  enter 
prise,  and  that  was  animated  by  the  highest  sense  of  humanity, 
I  believe  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  lives  of  men  whom  the 
world  has  most  delighted  to  honor. 

In  recalling  these  traits  of  your  heroic  son,  and  in  witness 
ing  the  eager  and  universal  appreciation  of  them  by  the  whole 
country,  both  in  the  honors  accorded  to  his  memory,  and  in  the 
applause  with  which  his  career  has  been  distinguished,  you  will, 
I  hope,  find  the  poignancy  of  your  grief  tempered  and  sub 
dued. 

As  one  who  had  some  claim  to  be  his  friend,  and  which  I 
am  proud  to  know  was  earnestly  recognized  by  him,  I  have 
thought  myself  entitled  to  approach  you  in  your  period  of 
mourning,  and.  by  suggesting  what  I  have  found  to  be  a  relief 
to  my  own  feelings,  pray  you  to  receive  it  as  some  assuagement 
of  your  own.  With  kindest  regards  and  condolence,  I  am,  my 
dear  sir, 

Very  truly  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

While  fully  occupied  with  the  specific  duties  of  his  Depart 
ment,  as  usual,  Mr.  Kennedy's  services  were  constantly  in  de 
mand  beyond  the  range  of  his  official  obligations.  Many  pa 
pers  emanating  from  the  Executive  were  drafted  by  him  •  and 
his  aid  was  enlisted  in  the  attempt  to  arrange  an  International 
Copyright  Treaty.  His  social  relations  with  the  officers  of  the 
Navy,  the  Cabinet,  members  of  Congress  and  foreign  society 


SECRETARY    OF    TTIE    NAVY.  233 

at  Washington,  were  now  of  the  most  agreeable  nature.  His 
house  was  their  favorite  resort.  His  old  friend  Washington 
Irving  was  his  guest  during  the  last  weeks  of  his  official  career. 
During  Mr.  Irving's  later  years,  his  life  was  comparatively  se 
cluded  ;  but,  while  collecting  the  materials  for  his  ':  Life  of 
Washington."  he  passed  some  time  at  the  capital  for  that  pur 
pose,  happily  domesticated  with  Mr.  Kennedy's  family.  The 
charms  of  this  home,  where  he  was  surrounded  with  affection 
ate  sympathy  and  care,  the  eminent  men  and  interesting  wo 
men  whom  he  met,  and  the  constant  evidences  of  personal  re 
gard  which  our  pioneer  author  then  and  there  received,  made 
this  period  of  unwonted  social  excitement  memorable  as  the 
last  which  his  failing  health  permitted  him  to  enjoy.  He  al 
ludes  with  much  feeling,  in  some  of  his  letters,  to  this  genial 
experience,  and  gives  us  glimpses  of  a  pleasant  domestic  in 
terior.  On  his  arrival  he  wrote  to  Sunnyside,  "  I  am  most  com 
fortably  fixed  at  Mr.  K.'s ;  Mrs.  K.  received  me  in  her  own 
frank  and  kind  manner — she  could  not  treat  me  better  even 
if  she  were  a  niece.  I  am  in  the  midst  of  terrible  dissipation  ; 
I  have  three  young  belles  in  the  house,  on  a  visit ;  they  are  very 
pretty,  very  amiable,  very  lady-like,  and  one  of  them  very  musi 
cal  ;  and  I  could  make  myself  very  happy  at  home  with  them, 
if  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry  out  of  doors,  would  only  leave  me 
alone."  "  Saturday,"  he  remarks  in  another  letter,  "  I  made  a 
delightful  excursion,  with  some  of  our  household  and  some  of 
the  young  folks  of  the  President's  family,  down  the  Potomac, 
in  a  steamer,  to  Mount  Vernon .;"  he  also  describes  levees, 
balls,  dinner-parties,  meetings  with  old  friends  and  the  making 
of  new  ones,  with  great  relish  ;  "  I  should  have  a  heart  like  a 
pebble,"  he  adds, "  if  I  was  insensible  to  the  very  cordial  treat 
ment  I  experience  wherever  I  go.  The  only  fault  is  that  I  am 
likely  to  be  killed  by  kindness.  I  work  all  the  morning  in  the 
State  Department,  and  meet  pleasant  people  at  every  turn." 
It  is  obvious,  however,  that  the  chief  cause  and  source  of  Mr. 
Irving's  enjoyment  was  the  pleasant  home  which  his  friend's  fam 
ily  made  for  him ;  and,  whfin  he  returned  to  Sunnyside  in  the 


231  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

Spring,  he  thus  expressed  his  appreciation  thereof:  "  I  was  real 
ly  sad  at  heart,  my  dear  Mrs.  Kennedy,  at  parting  with  you  and 
Mary  K.  at  Washington.  Indeed  had  not  your  establishment 
fallen  to  pieces  around  me,  I  hardly  know -when  I  should  have 
gotten  away.  I  could  almost  have  clung  to  the  wreck,  so  long 
as  there  was  a  three-legged  stool  and  a  horn  spoon  to  make 
shift  with.  You  see  what  danger  there  is  in  domesticating 
me.  I  am  sadly  prone  to  take  root  where  I  find  myself  hap 
py.  It  was  some  consolation  to  me,  in  parting,  that  I  had  Mr. 
H.  and  the  gentle  Horse-Shoe  for  fellow-travellers.  With 
out  their  company  I  should  have  been  completely  down 
hearted/' 

"  The  expedition  to  Japan  so  successfully  executed  by  Com 
modore  Perry,"  writes  an  officer  of  our  navy,  "  the  expedition 
to  the  Polar  Sea  by  Dr.  Kane,  the  surveying  expedition  of 
Ringold  to  the  East  Indies,  the  examination  of  the  Paraguay 
waters  by  the  Water  Witch,  were  either  inceptions  of  Mr.  Ken 
nedy,  or  received  from  him  such  intelligent  recognition  and  sup 
port,  as  to  have  made  its  impress  not  only  on  our  own  history, 
but  upon  that  of  all  nations ;  he  stimulated  and  brought  about 
a  healthy  activity  and  a  useful  employment  of  our  vessels  of 
war." 

The  change  in  the  political  horizon,  the  advent  of  a  new 
administration,  and  the  close  of  his  official  career,  are  noted 
by  Mr.  Kennedy  with  his  usual  good-humor ;  and  he  records, 
with  true  feeling,  the  bereavement  which  saddened  the  Presi 
dent's  retirement. 

Baltimore,  Nov.  2,  1852. — The  day  of  the  Presidential  elec 
tion.  It  begins  with  cloudy  skies.  I  go  and  vote  for  Scott. 
Bad  accounts  of  the  defection  of  our  friends.  I  still  have  some 
hope  that  it  will  turn  out  better  than  it  promises.  Upon  the 
whole,  although  we  may  lose  Maryland,  we  are  confident  of  the 
large  States;  as  we  have  good  tidings  from  them. 

After  tea  Mr.  Barney  sent  for  me.  I  go  to  his  house. 
Here  I  find  Hubbard  and  Crittenden  waiting  the  returns  by 
telegraph.  They  have  already  got  them  from  Baltimore, — over 


SECRETARY    OF    THE    NAVY. 

4000  majority  for  Pierce  !  !  A  shocking  beginning.  General 
Scott  and  his  son-in-law,  Colonel  Scott,  call  in,  and  sit  the  rest 
of  the  evening.  More  returns — still  more  overwhelming.  A 
Waterloo  defeat — a  perfect  hurricane  that  has  upturned  every 
thing.  Poor  Scott  bears  it  well.  We  laugh  at  the  extravagance 
of  the  vote  against  him.  It  is  ludicrous  to  see  how  we  are  beaten. 
We  have  an  oyster  supper.  The  general  eats  heartily  and 
brews  us  a  pitcher  of  whiskey  punch.  He  talks  a  great  deal, 
— in  good-humor, — and  we  make  the  best  of  our  misfortunes. 
What  a  total  defeat  in  our  arithmetic  !  Not  one  expectation 
has  been  realized.  I  stay  till  twelve,  and  having  heard  enough, 
for  we  have  the  returns  from  Buffalo,  Detroit,  Sandusky, — 
from  Vermont,  from  Boston, — a  great  many  others — and  all 
telling  the  same  story  of  thorough  overthrow.  I  go  home  to 
bed  and  sleep  very  soundly  till  morning. 

Nov.  3. — Beautiful  weather  again.  The  papers  full  of  the 
fragments  of  the  whirlwind  sweep  of  yesterday. 

Washington,  Tuesday,  March  8,1853. — The  officers  of  the 
Navy,  some  forty  in  number,  call  to  make  me  their  adieus.  I 
appoint  1 1  o'clock  to  introduce  them  to  the  new  Secretary,  Mr. 
Dobbin,  who  comes  at  half  past  eleven.  I  present  the  heads  of 
Bureaus  and  the  officers  assembled,  to  him.  I  then  accompa 
ny  the  officers  to  take  leave  of  Mr.  Fillmore  at  Willard's. 
Thence  the  whole  corps  comes  to  my  house  to  make  their  re 
spects  to  Mrs.  Kennedy.  We  have  quite  a  painful  leave-taking. 
They  are  very  kind  to  me,  and  express  great  and,  I  have  no 
doubt,  honest  regret.  Irving  is  present,  and  says  they  are  fine 
fellows.  He  is  quite  taken  with  the  Navy  Department. 
There  is  so  much  poetry,  he  says,  in  its  material  and  incidents. 
I  regard  it  as  much  the  most  interesting  portion  of  the  Execu 
tive  Government.  Mrs.  Hare  and  my  niece  are  present  at  this 
leave-taking.  Mary  is  quite  affected  by  it.  She  is  a  favorite 
with  the  officers.  After  this,  it  being  one  o'clock,  we  call  on  Pres 
ident  Pierce  with  the  new  secretary,  and  he  introduces  the 
corps  to  the  President.  Mr.  Pierce  has  invited  Mr.  Fillmore 
and  his  family  and  the  old  Cabinet  to  dine  with  him  to-morrow, 


23 C)  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

to  meet  the  new  Cabinet, — in  exchange  for  Mr.  Fillmore's 
hospitality  to  him.  I  tell  Mr.  Pierce  to-day  that  I  am  obliged 
to  go  to  Baltimore  this  afternoon,  and  cannot  be  back  in  time 
for  his  dinner ;  "  You  imist  come,"  he  tells  me,  but  I  say  it  is 
impossible.  "  But  your  wife — she  will  come  ?"  "  Yes."  Then 
he  said,  "  Tell  her  I  will  take  care  of  her.  I  will  send  my 
carriage  for  her,  and  Chief-Justice  Gilchrist,  of  New  Hamp 
shire,  to  conduct  her.  Remember  to  tell  her  that."  "  Cer 
tainly,"  I  replied,  "  she  will  be  greatly  flattered  by  your 
kindness."  I  took  my  leave,  and  having  all  my  officers  still 
around  me,  we  determined  to  call  and  make  our  respects  to 
the  new  Secretary  of  War,  which  we  did.  After  that  I  took 
my  final  leave  of  the  corps,  with  a  few  kind  words  at  the 
door  of  the  War  Department,  then  hurried  on  to  the  avenue. 
I  was  still  followed,  however,  by  some  dozen  officers,  who 
accompanied  me  to  the  corner  of  F  Street,  opposite  the 
Treasury,  where  I  had  business,  and  at  that  point, — with  a 
hearty  God  bless  you,  gentlemen  !  we  parted.  Thus  ends  my 
official  career. 

At  three,  having  dined,  Irving  and  Mrs.  Hare  get  with  me 
into  the  carriage — Irving  on  his  return  to  New  York,  Mrs.  H. 
to  go  to  Ellicott's  Mills.  Poor  Irving  is  very  sad  at  parting 
with  the  family,  and  sheds  tears.  But  we  are  soon  at  the  de- 
put,  and  then  off  for  Baltimore  by  the  train  at  half  past  three. 
We  part  with  Mrs.  Hare  at  the  Relay  House,  and  reach  Balti 
more  at  half  past  five.  Drive  to  our  house  in  Calvert  Street, 
where  I  have  a  room  for  Irving.  Mr.  Gray  and  Martha  are 
expecting  us.  Mr.  G.  quite  well  again.  We  have  a  delightful 
evening  at  home. 

Washington,  March  3oth,  1853. — E —  and  I  determine  to 
go  down  by  the  late  train  at  seven  o'clock  to  see  the  family. 
We  do  so,  and  arrive  at  Willard's  at  nine.  I  address  a  note  to 
Mr.  Fillmore,  and  E —  and  I  are  admitted.  He  and  his  son 
and  daughter  receive  us  with  a  sad  welcome.  They  are  calm, 
but  in  great  distress.  Mr.  F —  talks  very  freely  to  us  about 
this  melancholy  event.  Mrs.  F —  was  greatly  oppressed  with 


DEATH    OF   MRS.    FILLMORE.  237 

water  on  the  lungs.  She  suffered  much  pain  until  last  night, 
when  she  grew  easier.  Her  cough  ceased,  and  they  thought 
she  was  better,  but  the  signs  were  more  dangerous  than  the 
family  supposed.  She  expired  at  nine  o'clock  this  morning, 
without  pain,  and  perfectly  composed.  She  was  a  kind,  un 
pretending,  good  woman,  full  of  the  most  sterling  virtues — 
greatly  beloved  in  her  family,  and  respected  by  everybody. 
There  was  no  member  of  the  late  Cabinet  in  Washington  but 
myself. 

Washington,  March  31,  1853. — How  strange  that  the  de 
parting  President  should  be  borne  from  the  field  of  his  high  la 
bors  with  this  heavy  load  of  grief  upon  him, — while  the  new 
President,  Mr.  Pierce,  should  arrive  to  assume  the  same  du 
ties,  under  a  similar  affliction,  in  the  loss  of  his  son !  The 
Vice-President,  too,  Mr.  King,  is  irrecoverably  ill  at  this  mo 
ment  in  Cuba — his  case  utterly  hopeless.  It  is  a  subject  of 
curious  note,  that  General  Harrison  came  to  the  Presidency 
in  1840, — died  soon  after  the  commencement  of  his  term  ;  that 
the  Vice-President,  Tyler,  succeeded  to  his  place,  and  that  he 
lost  his  wife  during  the  term ;  that  the  next  Whig  President, 
General  Taylor,  elected  in  1848,  presented  the  same  succes 
sion  of  facts,— a  death, — the  elevation  of  the  Vice-President, 
and  now  just  at  the  close  (instead  of  during  the  term),  the 
death  of  his  wife.  One  might  almost  gather  from  these  inci 
dents  a  philosophy  that  embraces  the  idea  of  a  sacrifice  as 
the  necessary  price  of  power. — If  indeed,  death  be  sacrifice. 
May  it  not  be  reward  and  a  token  of  favor  ?" 

During  the  following  autumn,  Mr.  Kennedy  thus  describes 
an  interesting  excursion. 

Jefferson,  Clarke  Co.,  October,  1853. — Irving  being  anx 
ious  to  visit  Greenway  Court,  the  old  seat  of  Lord  Fairfax,  in 
Clarke  County,  Andrew  and  I  proposed  to  set  out  with  him  on 
Monday.  We  accordingly  took  the  railroad  at  one  for  Winches 
ter.  Just  before  starting  I  found  Governor  Brown,  the  late  Gov 
ernor  of  Florida,  at  the  cL'pot  in  Charlestown,  and  had  some 
conversation  with  him  on  the  present  condition  of  the  political 


238  LIFE    OF    JOHN  P.  KEXXEDY. 

world.  He  is  a  good  Whig,  and  was  much  amused  with  the 
perplexities  of  Mr.  Pierce's  administration  in  the  affairs  of 
their  friends  in  New  York. 

We  reached  Winchester  at  half  past  three.  Hired  a  car 
riage,  and  were  off  at  four,  intending  to  go  down  to  Hugh  Neil- 
son's  (Long  Branch),  in  Clarke  County,  to  spend  the  night. 
Our  road  was  for  the  most  part  very  good,  being  a  plank  road 
for  eight  miles  and  a  turnpike  for  two  more,  to  White  Post. 
Thence  to  Neilson's  was  three  miles  over  a  country  roacl.  We 
reached  his  house  between  seven  and  eight.  We  found  Mrs. 
Holkar— the  mother  of  Mrs.  N. — at  home, — Neilson  and  his 
wife  were  on  a  visit  to  a  neighbor,  and  expected  to  be  back  about 
this  time.  They  came  in  soon  after  us,  and  gave  us  a  most  hos 
pitable  reception.  Neilson's  house  is  a  fine,  spacious  and  com 
fortable  establishment,  and  we  were  most  pleasantly  disposed 
of  for  the  night.  After  breakfast  the  next  day  (Tuesday,  i8th 
Oct.),  Neilson  had  his  horses  and  a  little  barouche  with  a  pair 
of  ponies  at  the  door,  to  take  us  into  the  neighborhood.  I  drove 
Irving  in  the  barouche— Andrew  and  Neilson  went  on  horse 
back.  The  weather  continued  extremely  fine  ;  the  landscape 
of  this  region,  especially  at  this  season,  is  magnificent.  We 
first  drove  over  by  Millwood,  to  the  residence  of  the  widow  of 
Phil.  Cooke — about  three  miles.  Here  we  saw  her  and  her 
children.  I  brought  away  'a  volume  of  Cook's  poems  to  show 
it  to  Irving.  It  belonged  to  Miss  Page,  who  was  there.  I 
have  determined  to  get  it  handsomely  bound  before  I  return  it 
to  her.  Leaving  Mrs.  Cook's,  Neilson  proposed  to  guide  Irving 
and  myself  to  Greenway  Court,  which  lies  about  three  miles 
from  Long  Branch  in  the  opposite  direction  from  where  we 
then  were.  Andrew,  not  wishing  to  make  so  long  a  ride,  re 
turned  to  the  house  to  wait  for  us  at  dinner.  Neilson  rode 
rapidly  on  a  fine  horse,  and  I  drove  as  quickly  after  him.  It 
was  near  two  when  we  arrived  at  the  old  remnant  of  Lord  Fair 
fax's  dwelling.  The  road  is  rough  and  crooked,  passing  by 
the  farm  and  dwelling  of  Bishop  Meade.  Greenway  Court  is 
about  a  mile  from  White  Post.  This  latter  point  is  now  a  lit- 


GKEEXWAY    COURT. 

tie  ham]et.  It  was,  in  Lord  Fairfax's  day,  a  cross-road,  at 
which  he  had  set  up  a  bridge  post,  which  being  painted  white, 
thus  acquired  its  name.  The  people  now  keep  up  a  more  fin 
ished  structure,  somewhat  resembling  a  tall  pump,  with  a  green 
ornament — an  arm,  I  think, — upon  the  top  of  it,  by  way  of  mon 
ument  of  the  old  finger-post,  which  once  directed  the  traveller 
to  Green  way  Court. 

Greenway  Court  is  now  owned  by  Mr.  Kennerly,  the  son 
of  the  clergyman  who  purchased  it.  We  found  here  the  broth 
er-in-law  of  Mr.  Kennerly,  Mr.  Massie,  who  was  very  kind  to 
us  in  showing  us  what  we  desired  to  see. 

The  principal  building,  erected  by  Lord  Fairfax,  is  still 
standing,  though  very  much  broken  down  and  decayed.  It  is 
a  long,  one-storied  structure,  nearly  one  hundred  feet  in  length, 
with  a  heavy,  beetling  porch,  of  which  the  floor  is  guarded  by 
close  panel-work  instead  of  railing.  It  has  dormer  windows 
in  the  roof,  two  belfries,  in  one  of  which  is  the  original. bell. 
There  are  earthen-ware  vessels,  made  like  bottles,  for  martens 
or  swallows  to  make  their  nests  in,  built  in  each  chimney — 
three  in  each.  These  chimneys  stand  one  in  each  gable. 
The  roof  in  the  rear  falls  within  eight  feet  of  the  ground,  thus 
giving  double  rooms  through  from  the  front ;  and  from  what  re 
mains  of  the  masonry, — as  the  building  is  of  stone, — it  seems 
that  it  was  stuccoed,  laid  off  in  squares,  and  filled  with  small 
bits  of  limestone,  the  composition  now  being  very  hard,  and 
its  appearance  rather  ornamental.  This  house  is  now  a  negro 
quarter.  It  was  originally  appropriated  by  Lord  Fairfax  to 
the  entertainment  of  his  guests.  He  did  not  live  in  it  himself, 
preferring  a  small  cabin  of  the  simplest  structure,  made  of 
clapboards,  as  Mr.  Massie  told  us,  and  not  above  twenty  feet 
square,  which  stood  immediately  in  front  of  the  present  brick 
dwelling-house,  which  the  former  Mr.  Kennerly  built  about 
twenty  years  ago.  This  cabin  stood  some  twenty  or  thirty 
yards  from  the  old  mansion  with  the  belfries.  There  is  a  large 
grass-plot  or  court,  around  the  buildings,  on  which  is  built 
many  out-houses,  for  kitchens,  offices  and  so  forth,  forming 


MO  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

part  of  the  original  establishment,  now  very  much  dilapida 
ted.  Among  these,  in  tolerable  good  preservation,  is  the  old 
land-office  in  which  Lord  Fairfax  transacted  his  business. 
There  is  also  the  old  coach-house,  which  tradition  says  his 
lordship  built  around  and  over  a  superb  English  coach,  which 
he  imported  from  London  and  never  used.  Several  fine  old 
trees,  evidently  his  cotemporaries,  yet  remain  ;  one  of  these, 
a  majestic  oak,  under  which  the  boyhood  of  Washington,  who 
spent  a  great  deal  of  his  time  here,  was  sheltered  from  the  sun. 
A  row  of  locusts,  very  old,  and  probably  planted  by  Lord  Fair 
fax,  still  shade  the  front  of  the  old  mansion.  We  could  trace 
the  foundation  of  the  stone  chimney  to  Fairfax's  cabin  ;  and  a 
growth  of  sweet  brier  yet  remains,  which  it  is  said  shaded  the 
window  of  this  little  structure.  The  ruins  of  the  cabin  were 
removed  by  Mr.  Kennedy  when  he  built  the  brick  mansion, — 
all  the  rest  of  these  relics  of  Lord  Fairfax's  establishment  are 
left  without  any  apparent  effort  at  repair,  to  moulder  away 
under  the  hand  of  time.  Mr.  Kennedy's  servants  some  years 
ago,  about  ten,  I  think,  in  opening  a  quarry  of  limestone  near 
the  house,  discovered  a  depository  of  gold, — old  pieces  valued 
at  about  four  hundred  dollars,  which  was  probably  contained 
in  a  box  which  had  rotted  away,  as  an  iron  clasp  was  found 
with  them.  These  were  exchanged  for  modern  money  in 
Alexandria,  and  a  portion  of  the  proceeds  distributed  among 
the  negroes  who  had  found  them,  as  Mr.  Massie  told  us,  and 
gave  rise  to  some  ludicrous  exhibitions  of  finery.  Mr.  Massie 
showed  us  one  of  these  pieces.  It  was  a  good  deal  abraded, 
and  appeared  to  be  a  very  old  coin,  worth,  I  should  think 
from  its  weight,  about  six  dollars.  It  had  a  shield  with  royal 
quarterings  on  one  side,  and  a  cross,  apparently  in  a  rose,  on 
the  other.  It  was  too  much  obliterated  to  enable  us  to  make 
out  any  inscription.  Irving  thought  it  might  be  a  rose  noble. 
Mr.  M.  also  showed  us  a  snuff-box  of  mother-of-pearl,  bound 
with  silver,  which  was  carried  by  Lord  Fairfax." 

It  is  characteristic  of  Mr..  Kennedy's  social  sympathies 
and  fealty,  that  his  interest  in  and  communion  with  those 


NOVELS. 

brought  into  intimate  contact  by  offic'al  relations,  continued 
long  after  the  latter  had  ceased  ;  they  often  induced  permanent 
friendships.  Thus  he  noted  the  fortunes  of  the  naval  officers 
and  corresponded  with  them,  in  some  instances,  to  the  end  of 
his  life.  "  I  am  greatly  disturbed,"  he  writes,  "  to  hear  that 
Commander  Ringold,  of  the  North  Pacific  Squadron,  is  com 
ing  home  in  a  state  of  mental  aberration.  We  have  a  rumor 
that  he  has  had  a  fever  at  Hong  Kong."  He  wrote  a  letter 
from  Nice  to  an  officer  on  certain  proposed  reforms,  which 
was  deemed  so  important  that  it  was  printed  for  circulation. 
His  first  visit  to  Washington,  -as  we  have  seen,  after  his  retire 
ment,  was  to  condole  with  Mr.  Fillmore  on  a  sudden  domestic 
bereavement ;  and  he  continued  on  intimate  terms  with  the 
Ex-President  to  the  last.  They  consulted,  by  letter,  on  pub 
lic  affairs  both  when  at  home  and  abroad.  "  I  am  gratified  to 
learn,"  writes  Mr.  Fillmore  from  Buffalo,  "  that  Mr.  Irving 
is  restored  to  health,  and  that  you  are  mutually  in  the  enjoy 
ment  of  each  other's  society.  Your  circle  must  now  be  com 
plete,  and  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  imagine  any  thing  more  invit 
ing.  How  happy  should  I  be  if  I  could  drop  in  and  pass  an 
evening  in  listening  to  your  conversation  !" 

In  the  spring  of  1854  the  long-purposed  journey  to  the 
Southwest  was  made  by  the  Ex-President,  Mr.  Kennedy,  and 
other  friends.  They  were  everywhere  greeted  with  cordiality  ; 
and  the  tour  was  a  long  political  ovation.  In  all  the  princi 
pal  cities,  and  especially  at  Harrisburgh,  Pittsburgh,  Dayton, 
Columbus  and  Cincinnati,  Ohio,  Madison,  Louisville,  Nash 
ville,  Macon,  Savannah  and  Charleston, — their  reception  was 
enthusiastic  ;  dinners,  speeches,  and  expeditions  to  view  what 
ever  scene  of  interest  the  country  afforded,  were  the  order  of 
the  day.  Mr.  Kennedy  gained  much  useful  local  informa 
tion  during  this  tour ;  and  carefully  noted  the  results  of  his 
observations,  and  the  salient  points  of  his  experience.  He  ad 
dressed  large  audiences  at  every  place  where  they  sojourned. 

The  following  letters  refer  to  their  excursion  : 
ii 


24:2  LIFE    OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 

LEXINGTON,  KY,  March  13tli,  18J4. 

MY  DEAR  E.: — The  oratory,  so  long  pent  up,  has  broken 
out.  Here  we  are  in  all  the  noise  and  confusion  which  are 
known  to  be  so  serviceable  to  politicians  and  so  distressing  to 
simple-minded  and  quiet-loving  secretaries.  We  left  Frankfort 
at  half  after  nine,  on  the  loveliest  of  Spring  mornings,  and  ar- 
ived  here  at  a  little  after  eleven — twenty-six  miles.  We  had  a 
beautiful,  peaceful,  and  unsuspecting  ride.  The  country  was  in 
sunshiny  repose,  growing  green  as  fast  as  it  could;  and  inno 
cent  young  frogs  were  tuning  their  spring-tide  flageolets  in  the 
swamps.  Nature  was  decidedly  pastoral.  The  country  was 
rich  and  enchanting.  A  few  handsome  seats  showed  we  were 
approaching  an  old  town.  We  were  already  in  the  depot  of 
Lexington — boom !  went  a  gun,  and  we  saw  a  set  of  commoners 
hurrahing  and  tossing  up  their  caps. 

BATTLE  HOUSE,  MOBILE,  April  11, 1854. 

MY  DEAR  E.  : — I  was  summoned  immediately  after  I  had 
sealed  my  letter,  to  attend  M —  to  the  august  ceremonies  of 
the  Combellian  and  Decaillon  Society,  of  which,  it  seems, 
though  I  did  not  know  it  till  then,  I  was  to  be  initiated  a  mem 
ber  as  well  as  himself.  We  were  conducted  with  much  mys 
tery  into  a  silent  part  of  the  town,  and  we  walked  in  the  clear 
moonlight,  the  only  moving  beings  to  be  seen.  We  were  con 
ducted  by  two  of  the  brotherhood,  and  only  spoke  to  each 
other  in  whispers.  We  were  taken  to  the  den  up  a  staircase, 
pitch  dark,  and  then  all  the  rest  is  a  secret.  We  are  members 
of  the  ancient  mystical  order  of  the  Combellians,  which  are 
only  known  here  by  certain  grotesque  ceremonies  and  inde 
scribable  masquerades  on  the  New  Year's  eve,  when  the  public 
see  the  figures  but  know  nothing  of  the  men.  The  illustrious 
X  and  I  are  fully  installed  in  the  First  Degree,  and  are  not 
permitted  to  tell  you  any  more  about  it. 

We  had  an  hour's  reception  at  Odd  Fellows'  Hall.  I  was 
struck  with  one  man's  (a  countryman's)  admiration  of  the  Hon- 


VISIT   TO    THE    SOUTHWEST.  243 

ored  Guest.  He  shook  hands  with  him  and  said  very  gravely, 
"  that's  lively  arid  lovely.  I  like  your  face — it  is  kind,  feeling 
and  touching  ;" — and  then  he  was  introduced  to  me,  and  said, 
"  lively  and  lovely,"  which  I  take  it  he  considers  to  be  a  particu 
larly  polite  form  of  salutation. 

BALTIMORE,  June  4, 1854. 
To  HON.  R.  C.  WINTHROP. 

My  DEAR  WINTHROP  : — It  is  three  weeks  to-day  since  I  got 
home  from  my  Southern  tour  with  the  honorable  and  particu 
larly  honored  X.*  Here  are  three  letters  of  yours  to  be  ac 
knowledged,  ist,  one  to  me,  which  came  here  soon  after  I  left 
Baltimore  ;  one  to  Mrs.  K.,  written  before  I  got  back,  and  which 
was  received  by  her  during  her  illness,  and  the  last  of  the  220! 
of  May,  on  yellow  paper,  which  reached  me  in  due  course  of 
mail.  I  am  particular  in  stating  my  obligations  numerically, 
because  your  case  is  an  example  of  many,  and  comes  into  the 
category  of  the  causing  causes  which  have  piled  upon  my  table 
in  a  monstrous  accumulation  of  things  "to  be' done,"  that  has 
frightened  me,  first,  into  incapable  apathy,  and  then,  as  reason 
revived,  into  heroic  defiance,— in  the  paroxysms  of  which  I 
have  taken  my  hat  and  cane,  for  six  mornings  successively,  and 
walked  out  of  my  library  at  ten  o'clock,  whistling  and  twirling 
my  stick  as  I  went  down  stairs,  with  such  a  jaunty  swagger  as 
to  make  the  family  think  I  was  quite  happy.  "  I  will  not  write 
a  line  to-day,"  said  I  on  each  morning,  "  for  any  living  man 
or  woman, — not  even  for  Winthrop  ;"  and  I  didn't.  I  have 
circumscribed  this  heroism  within  the  term  of  the  last  six  days, 
because  they  were  the  only  writable  days  I  have  had,— the 
previous  fifteen  having  been  exclusively  devoted  to  the  reaction. 
Seventy-five  days  of  constant  propulsion  by  steam  ;  one  hun 
dred  and  ten  collations ;  thirty-four  dinners  •  nineteen  balls ;  one 
hundred  and  sixty-one  committee-men,  seven  thousand 'bou 
quets  •  three  thousand  six  hundred  and  forty  volunteer  infantry ; 

*  Ex-President  Fillmore. 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 

twenty-six  bands  of  music ;  twenty-three  salutes  of  artillery  in 
full  complement  of  guns ;  with  a  vast  number  of  attempts  at  the 
same  performance  on  single  instruments  and  several  times  on 
six-barrelled  revolvers  ; — thirty-nine  orations  in  reply  to  set  en 
counters  by  mayors  and  councils,  and  forty-after  dinner  effu 
sions  in  response  to  toasts ;  eighteen  progresses  in  barouches  and 
six  white  horses  ;  a  like  number  with  four  bays  with  flags  eight 
inches  square  stuck  in  their  throat  stalls  j  twenty  two  excursions 
to  see  the  peculiar  wonders  of  peculiar  neighborhoods  ;  a  limit 
ed  quantity  of  miscellaneous  kissing,  with  a  decorous  though 
rather  ungracious  struggle  to  prevent  its  extension  ; — one  tre 
mendous,  overwhelming,  unique  and  unrepeatable  salutation  by 
twenty-six  steam-whistles  in  full,  consentaneous  ejaculation  from 
twenty-six  locomotives  covered  with  flowers  ;  and  one  thousand 
other  assaults  upon  my  nervous  system  during  the  two  months 
and  a  half  of  rotary  progression  in  the  tour.  You  will  per 
ceive,  in  this  hasty  summing  up  of  excitements,  how  inevitable 
and  how  absolute  must  have  been  the  reaction.  I  went  tc 
work  at  it  in  good  earnest,  and  slept  out  full  fifteen  days  and 
nights, — my  waking  hours  being  but  an  equivocal  somnambu 
lism  even  more  helpless  than  sleep.  Then  came  the  six  days 
of  normal  activity,  with  that  basket  of  appeals  to  duty  upon 
which  I  turned  my  back  so  cavalierly, — and  now,  as  every 
body  is  at  church,  I  take  heart  of  grace  to  look  at  what  I  have 
to  do. 

We  have  had  a  grand  time  down  among  the  magnolias 
and  rjalmettoes,  and  every  thing  went  so  prosperously  with  us, 
that  not  a  screw  was  loose  in  the  whole  circuit,  with  the  single 
exception  that  when  we  reached  Columbia,  in  South  Carolina, 
on  our  homeward  route,  I  got  a  telegram  to  say  that  Mrs.  K — 
was  ill,  and  summoning  me  home  ;  upon  which  we  came  so 
quickly  as  to  prevent  me  from  receiving  another  message  that 
she  was  better.  You  supposed  it  was  Mr.  Gray's  illness.  Mrs. 
K —  was  prostrated  by  a  nervous  fever,  which  was  quite  serious 
for  a  few  days,  and  which  disabled  her  for  three  weeks.  It  was 
in  that  interval  your  letter  reached  her,  and  her  condition  would 


VISIT    TO    THE    SOUTHWARD.  245 

not  allow  her  to  write  to  you.  Upon  my  arrival  I  found  her 
nearly  well  again,  though  still  weak,  and  she  is  not  yet  what  she 
was  before  her  attack.  Our  excursion  northward,  which  we 
hoped  to  make,  is  at  least  postponed  by  her  late  illness  ;  and 
now,  we  have  Mr.  Gray  so  very  feeble, — for  he  is  failing  visibly 
from  week  to  week, — that  any  journey  from  home  this  summer 
is  most  uncertain.  Unless  he  gets  much  stronger  than  he  is, 
— and  I  scarcely  can  expect  it, — we  shall  not  vahture  out  of 
our  own  precinct. 

To  add  to  my  engagements,  I  am  building  a  library,  with 
some  other  additions,  to  our  house  in  the  country,  and  the 
workmen  are  two  months  behind  their  promise,  and  will  keep 
me  supervising  them  till  July.  So  you  see  how  it  is  as  to  the 
prospect  of  our  meeting  you  and  Mrs.  W — ,  unless  you  come 
this  way  and  take  the  initiative  upon  yourself." 


24:6  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Mr.  Kennedy's  Fatlier-in-Law  ;  Life  and  Character  of  Edward  Gray  ; 
Visit  to  Europe. 

NO  attempt  to  portray  Mr.  Kennedy's  domestic  environ 
ment  and  home,  would  be  adequate,  which  omitted  the 
venerable  figure  and  magnetic  presence  of  his  father-in-law — a 
man  as  remarkable  for  his  ardent  and  sensitive  feelings  as  for 
his  probity  and  intelligence.  Edward  Gray  combined,  in  a  sin 
gular  degree,  a  sagacious  mind  with  an  aesthetic  temperament. 
He  was  energetic  and  wise  in  the  management  of  affairs  ;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  delighted  in  art,  literature  and  society.  He 
loved  to  read  poetry  to  his  children,  and  music  was  his  unfail 
ing  resource  and  favorite  recreation.  A  successful  man  of  bus 
iness,  he  was  keenly  alive  to  the  claims  of  humanity,  and  could 
not  bear  to  witness  suffering  or  hear  of  privation  without  in 
stantly  seeking  to  relieve  them.  His  charities  were  incessant, 
and  he  turned  from  industrial  enterprise  to  revel  in  the  compo 
sitions  of  Pergolese  and  Cherubini,  or  listen  to  the  warbling  of 
some  fair  neighbor,  whose  delight  it  was  to  minister  to  his  love 
of  music ;  hospitable,  frank,  impulsive,  generous  and  genial,  he 
was  honored  and  beloved  as  few  men  are,  in  social  and  domes 
tic  life.  Mr.  Gray  was  born  in  the  parish  of  Bovera,  near  Lon 
donderry,  Ireland,  July  16,  1776.  His  mother  came  of  an  old 
Welsh  stock — the  Edwards  family ;  and  his  father  was  of  an 
cient  Irish  descent,  a  clergyman  whose  memory  is  still  held  in 
love  and  reverence  where  he  so  long  and  faithfully  ministered. 
While  a  mere  lad,  Edward  Gray  had  become  warmly  interested 
in  the  American  war  ;  he  followed  its  course  with  deep  sympa- 


EDWARD    GRAY.  2iT 

thy  for  the  colonists,  and  knew  its  heroes  by  heart.  Determined 
to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  New  World,  soon  after  the  inaugu 
ration  of  the  Republic,  he  embarked  for  Philadelphia.  One  of 
his  fondest  and  highest  anticipations  was  to  behold  Wash 
ington,  for  whose  character  and  career  he  cherished  an  en 
thusiastic  admiration ;  while  his  political  sympathies  were 
identified  with  the  eminent  founders  of  the  Federal  party.  He 
used  to  relate,  as  a  remarkable  and  auspicious  coincidence, 
that  he  arrived  at  Philadelphia  on  a  beautiful  Sunday  morning; 
and,  on  landing,  walked  up  Chestnut  Street  in  search  of  accom 
modations  ;  he  was  but  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  his  entr'e  into 
the  city  of  brotherly  love,  reminds  us  of  Dr.  Franklin's  ;  after  a 
short  walk,  he  saw  a  tall  and  singularly  dignified  man  approach 
ing,  and,  when  near  enough  to  examine  his  features,  felt  con 
vinced  he  could  be  no  other  than  General  Washington  ;  to  con 
firm  his  conjecture  he  followed,  until  the  object  of  his  reverent 
curiosity  entered  a  house  ;  inquiring  whose  it  was,  of  a  passer 
by,  he  was  answered  "  the  President's."  Nor  was  this  all ;  in 
the  house  where  he  engaged  a  lodging,  he  found  Alexander 
Hamilton  a  temporary  inmate,  with  whom  he  became  intimate 
ly  acquainted,  and  the  commercial  house  where  he  was  soon 
after  engaged,  happened  to  be  that  with  which  Washington 
transacted  his  private  business ;  so  that,  immediately  upon 
reaching  our  shores,  the  ardent  boy  had  seen  and  soon  came 
to  know  personally  the  two  great  republican  patriots  and  states 
men — so  long  the  objects  of  his  juvenile  idolatry.  It  was  his 
duty  every  month,  to  take  the  General  his  bank-book;  and 
Washington  soon  conceived  a  high  regard  for  the  bright  and 
genial  young  clerk,  and  subsequently  invited  him  to  Mount 
Vernon. 

Mr.  Gray,  at  an  early  age,  established  himself  in  Philadel 
phia  ;  for  two  years  he  was  Mr.  Girard's  agent  in  Europe  ;  and, 
having  largely  engaged  in  the  China  trade,  became  a  success 
ful  merchant  as  well  as  a  great  favorite  in  society.  The  finan 
cial  reverses  incident  to  the  war  in  Europe,  and  the  capture  of 
his  largest  and  most  richly-laden  ship,  by  privateers,  brought 


248  LIFE   OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 

on  a  great  reverse  of  fortune;  and  Mr.  Gray,  with  so  many 
others,  had  to  succumb  to  the  tide  of  disaster.  His  personal 
popularity  and  his  sanguine  temper  now  became  recuperative 
resources  ;  for  his  friends,  including  some  of  the  most  honored 
names  in  the  city,  united  in  the  formation  of  a  manufacturing 
company  of  which  Mr.  Gray  was  appointed  the  agent  and  factor. 
In  1812  he  removed  to  Maryland,  and  a  mill  was  erected  un 
der  his  supervision,  on  the  Patapsco,  three  leagues  from  Balti 
more.  The  adaptation  of  this  region  for  industrial  enterprise, 
had  long  before  been  recognized.  In  1763,  Joseph  Ellicott 
and  John  Hugh  Burgess,  of  Bucks  County,  Pa.,  purchased  a 
mill  there  which  had  been  erected  by  a  Mr.  Moore  ;  soon  after, 
Mr.  Ellicott  sold  out  his  share  to  his  partner ;  but,  ten  years 
later,  he  returned  with  his  two  brothers — John  and  Andrew, 
who  built  the  mills  which  still  give  their  name  to  the  post- vil 
lage  and  township  in  Howard  and  Baltimore  counties,  on  the 
Patapsco.  Numerous  flouring  mills  and  other  manufacturing 
establishments  were  subsequently  erected  ;  and  the  town 
now  boasts  a  newspaper  office,  a  bank,  churches,  schools 
and  over  a  thousand  inhabitants.  The  company's  mill,  of 
which  Mr.  Gray  had  charge,  was  destroyed  by  fire ;  but,  by 
his  own  energy  and  good  judgment,  he  succeeded  in  re-build 
ing  it  on  a  larger  scale  and  on  his  own  account.  For  some 
years  it  was  not  very  profitable;  but,  after  the  tariff  of  1823, 
it  became  largely  remunerative ;  and  enjoyed  an  exceptional 
reputation  for  the  manufacture  of  a  fabric  for  which  there  was 
constant  demand.  Thus  prosperously  occupied,  Mr.  Gray  em 
bellished  his  grounds  and  improved  his  homestead,  in  the  im 
mediate  vicinity  of  the  mill ;  and  yet  secluded  and  rural 
enough  to  charm  the  eyes  and  enlist  the  pencils  of  English 
tourists,  who  found  something  in  the  scene  at  once  picturesque 
ancj  home-like.  Here,  this  noble  specimen  of  the  Irish  gentle 
man  passed  the  greater  part  of  the  year ;  his  time  divided  be 
tween  the  methodical  oversight  of  his  employees,  and  the  enjoy 
ment  of  a  domestic  and  social  life  rarely  equalled  for  its  gen 
erous  scope,  its  cordial  sympathy,  and  its  refined  taste. 


EDWARD    GRAY.  249 

Of  the  wife  of  this  estimable  and  interesting  man,  we  gain 
a  clear  idea  from  Mr.  Kennedy's  reference  to  her  death  : 

"On  the  28th  day  of  June,  1845,  Mrs.  Gray,  my  wife's 
mother,  died  at  our  seat  at  Patapsco,  of  a  most  severe  and 
protracted  illness,  which,  for  some  months,  had  doomed  her 
to  a  course  of  suffering  such  as  I  have  seldom  witnessed.  Her 
body  was  consigned  to  Green  Mount.  Always  meek,  humble, 
gentle  and  patient,  the  trials  of  her  long  illness  only  brought 
forth  those  qualities  into  continual  observation,  and  she  met 
death  almost  as  one  transfigured  and  lifted  out  of  this  world 
to  a  better, — made  welcome  to  her  as  a  reward  for  the  virtue 
of  her  patience.  She  was  unostentatiously  pious,  and  died 
with  the  courage  which  the  consciousness  of  a  religious  life 
and  a  long  practised  Christian  faith  usually  give.  Mr.  Gray, 
now  in  his  seventieth  year,  bears  his  loss,  not  without  grief, 
but  with  the  resignation  of  a  sensible  and  good  man.  For 
the  first  month  that  followed  he  was  greatly  cast  down,  but 
has  since  begun  to  assume  a  more  cheerful  tone  of  spirits. 
His  daughters  watch  and  serve  him,  more  like  ministering  an 
gels  than  children.  They  leave  him  nothing  to  desire  but 
their  happiness.  God  bless  them  for  their  filial  piety  !" 

The  benevolence  of  Mr.  Gray  was  habitual ;  after  his  death 
many  evidences  were  discovered  of  benefactions  of  which  even 
his  family  knew  nothing  ;  by  his  door,  during  the  long  months 
of  his  last  illness,  there  sat  a  woman  eager  to  serve,  grateful 
and  devoted,  whom  he  had  encountered,  years  before,  in  the 
cars, — a  poor  slave  girl,  about  to  be  sold  and  sent  south ;  he 
bought  her  and  then  gave  her  her  freedom.  His  temperament 
was  impressionable  and  impulsive  ;  easily  moved  to  tears  of 
sympathy  or  words  of  self-assertion,  his  heart  rebounded  ever 
in  the  direction  of  generous  emotion.  He  had  the  sensibility  of 
Goldsmith  without  his  vanity  ;  all  the  warm,  social  instincts  of 
his  nation,  with  a  good  sense  and  prudence  which,  in  practical 
matters,  kept  him  wise  and  firm.  He  was  fond  of  the  drama, 
of  literary  companionship,  and  much  given  to  hospitality.  One 
evening,  at  least,  in  the  week  was  devoted  to  music,  and  he 
n* 


250  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KEXXEDY. 

always  succeeded  in  enlisting  the  best  talent,  amateur  and  pro 
fessional,  on  these  occasions  ;  and  found  scope  for  his  own  in 
spiration  in  playing  the  violin.  Blessed  with  an  adequate  for 
tune  and  the  object  of  the  most  devoted  affection  to  his  daugh 
ters,  his  old  age  was  singularly  happy ;  and  although  a  martyr  to 
asthma,  his  spirits  rose  at  once  during  every  respite  from  the 
obstinate  malady ;  and  he  became  cheerful  and  ea/nest  with 
all  the  freshness  of  feeling  that  belongs  to  a  heart  never  hard 
ened  or  perverted  by  the  world.  When  dying,  he  said  to  his 
daughters  ;  "  Do  as  you  like  with  your  money  ;  but  comfort  the 
aged  and  educate  the  young"  And  this  sentiment,  so  character 
istic  of  their  father,  they  placed,  as  the  most  appropriate  epi 
taph,  on  his  tomb. 

A  charming  union  of  sensibility  and  will,  of  bonhomie  and 
intelligence,  is  discernible  in  the  features  and  expression  of 
Mr.  Gray;  and  it  is  interesting  to  observe  the  predominance 
of  these  qualities  as  they  were  modified  by  time  ;  a  beautiful 
miniature  taken  about  the  period  of  his  marriage,  is  replete 
with  youthful  glow  and  grace  ;  an  oil  painting  executed  when 
its  subject  was  fifty  years  of  age,  has  the  same  expression,  mel 
lowed  and  benign  ;  and  the  last — a  likeness  painted  by  a  for 
eign  artist,  from  an  excellent  photograph,  with  the  aid  of  sug 
gestions  from  his  daughters,  is  a  noble  representation  of  wise 
and  kindly  old  age. 

Of  the  character  and  personal  impression  of  the  man,  the 
off-hand  notes  of  his  son-in-law's  journal  give  us  the  most  au 
thentic  glimpses:  Thus  he  writes  on  Christmas  day,  1843: 
"  My  good  friend  Mr.  Gray,  who  is  constantly  heaping  kind 
ness  upon  me,  steps  into  my"  library,  this  morning,  where  I  am 
writing,  and  puts  a  check  into  my  hand  ;  "  a  Christmas  gift," 
he  says :  I  thanked  him  most  heartily,  meaning  more  than 
I  say,  for  I  would  not  say  to  his  face  what  I  think  of  him — the 
tenderest,  lovingest,  most  considerate  man,  full  of  the  finest 
impulses  and  most  generous  qualities  I  have  ever  found.  God 
bless  him  and  grant  him  many  happy  clays  yet !" 

And  again,  on  the  sixth  of  February,  1848,  he  writes  :     "  I 


EDWARD    GRAY.  251 

ought  to  say  that  my  good  father-in-law,  some  ten  days  ago, 
purchased  a  splendid  copy  of  all  Hogarth's  pictures,  in  the 
very  large  folio  volume,  which  he  presented  to  me  as  a  New 
Year's  gift.  It  is  a  most  acceptable  addition  to  my  library, 
and  will  be  preseived  by  me  in  most  grateful  memory  of  the 
thousand  acts  of  kindness  which  I  am  constantly  receiving 
from  this  excellent  man.  I  cannot  repay  him'  by  any  assidui 
ty  of  mine,  a  tithe  of  the  benefactions  I  owe  him." 

"  I  am  busy  in  my  study,"  says  the  journal,  Jan.  29th,  1851. 
"  Mr.  Gray  comes  in  to  talk  with  me  about  his  affairs,  and  to 
give  me  a  written  statement  of  their  condition  ;  to  apprise  me, 
as  he  says,  of  these  particulars  for  my  guidance  in  case  of  his 
death,  which  he  tells  me  must  soon  occur.  He  is  extremely 
kind  and  affectionate  and  confiding  in  his  intercourse  with  me  ; 
and  certainly  the  most  calm,  composed  and  cheerful  man,  in  the 
contemplation  of  death,  I  have  ever  seen.  And  I  have  never 
met  a  man  who  had  arrived  at  his  time  of  life,  whose  character 
had  remained  so  pure  from  the  taint  of  selfishness.  He  is  as  gen 
erous,  as  self-sacrificing  and  as  kindly  in  his  feelings  as  in  the 
best  days  of  his  manhood."  Soon  after  the  last  date  Mr. 
Gray's  health  began  visibly  to  decline  ;  for  years  he  was  a  con 
stant  sufferer  from  asthma,  which,  at  last,  became  complicated 
with  more  alarming  symptoms  ;  yet  he  often  rallied  ;  his  te 
nacity  of  life  was  remarkable  ;  and  in  mind  and  heart  he  was 
clear  and  strong  till  within  a  few  days  of  his  death.  During 
this  long  period  of  illness  he  was  the  object  of  incessant  and 
tender  filial  devotion  ;  and  Mr.  Kennedy,  from  time  to  time, 
noted  the  phases  of  his  long  decline  with  affectionate  solicitude. 
Thus,  on  the  eleventh  of  July,  1854,  at  Patapsco,  he  writes  : 
"  Mr.  Gray  is  very  feeble,  and  does  not  come  down  stairs  to 
day.  His  birth-day  occurs  on  the  sixteenth  of  this  month, 
when  he  will  be  seventy-eight.  I  find  he  is  strongly  impressed 
with  the  idea  or  presentiment,  that  he  will  not  live  beyond  that 
day.  I  would  not  be  surprised  if  this  strong  feeling,  and  I  be 
lieve  wish,  should  operate  upon  his  debilitated  state  of  body 
so  as  to  bring  about  the  event."  Yet  he  not  only  survived  the 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY,, 

attack,  but  was  not  again  so  thoroughly  prostrated  until  the 
following  Spring— having  passed  the  winter,  as  usual,  in  Balti 
more,  where  on    the    sixth   of  April,    Mr.    Kennedy  writes  : 
"  Poor  Mr.  Gray  suffers  shockingly  with  asthma.     This  has 
been  a  winter  of  agony  to  him.     He  can  get  but  little  sleep 
at  night,— the  paroxysms  of  his  disease  constantly  returning 
when  he  lies  down.     He  is  thus  kept,  during  the  greater  part 
of  the  time,  in  his  chair,  and  his  moaning  is  heard  sorrowfully 
all  over  the  house.     He  prays  fervently  for  release.     I  was 
struck  with  his  mild,  gentle,  and  resigned  deportment.     Natu 
rally  of  an  irritable  temperament,  he  seemed  to  have  lost  all 
restlessness,  and  to  have  brought  himself  into  a  patient  and 
calm  state  of  expectation  of  that  close  of  life  which  wise  men 
look  to  without  alarm  and  even  with  complacent  welcome." 
In  September  of  the  same  year,  he  was  not  only  alive  but  able 
to  think  and  act  with  considerate  purpose,  for,  on  the  twenty- 
second  of  that  month,  his  son-in-law  writes  :  "  He  sent  for  me 
on  Sunday  last,  and  had  his  little  box  of  papers  taken  out. 
He  showed  me  his  will.     It  was  sealed  up  in  a  packet.     He 
asked  me  to  take  it,  break  the  seal,  and  tell  him  if  there  was 
any  thing  I  desired  to  have  altered.     I  refused  ;  saying  I  had 
no  suggestion  to  make,  and  if  it  suited  him  it  was  all  that  was 
necessary  to  look  to." 

The  partial  estimate  of  kindred  did  no  more  than  justice 
to  Mr.  Gray's  noble  and  attractive  qualities ;  he  was  regarded 
in  the  same  manner,  though,  of  course,  in  a  less  degree,  by 
friends  and  acquaintance.  « Mr.  Gray,"  writes  Washington 
Irving,  « is  a  capital  specimen  of  the  old  Irish  gentlemen- 
warm-hearted,  benevolent,  well-informed,  and,  like  myself,  very 
fond  of  music  and  pretty  faces,  so  that  our  humors  jump  togeth 
er  completely."  In  another  letter  from  Baltimore,  Jan.  i;th, 
1853,  where  he  tarried  awhile  on  his  way  to  Washington,  he  de 
scribes  to  his  niece  the  characteristic  reception  of  his  old  friend  : 
"  I  had  to  inquire  my  way  to  Kennedy's,  or  rather  Mr.  Gray's, 
as  he  shares  the  house  of  his  father-in-law;  the  door  was 
opened  by  Mr.  G.'s  factotum  and  valley  de  sham  Phil,  an  old 


EDWARD    GRAY.  253 

negro,  who  formed  a  great  friendship  for  me  at  Saratoga  last 
summer,  and,  I  am  told,  rather  values  himself  on  our  intimacy. 
The  moment  he  recognized  me,  he  seized  me  by  the  hand, 
with  such  exclamations  of  joy,  that  he  brought  out  Mr.  and 
then  Miss  Gray  into  the  hall ;  and  then  a  scene  took  place 
worthy  of  forming  a  companion-piece  to  the  Return  of  the  Prod 
igal  Son.  In  a  moment  I  felt  myself  in  my  paternal  home ; 
and  ever  since  have  been  a  favored  child  of  the  house.  To  be 
sure,  there  was  no  fatted  calf  killed  ;  but  there  was  a  glorious 
tea-table  with  broiled  oysters  and  other  accessories  worthy  of 
a  traveller's  appetite." 

In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Gray,  dated  at  Sunnyside,  April  24th,  1853, 
after  acknowledging  a  present  of  some  fine  hams,  Mr.  Irving 
writes  :  "  I  have  celebrated  my  seventieth  birth-day  and  passed 
that  boundary  beyond  which  a  man  lives  by  special  privilege. 
Your  example  shows  me,  however,  that  a  man  may  live  on  be 
yond  that  term,  and  retain  his  sensibilities  alive  to  every  thing 
noble  and  good  and  pleasant  and  beautiful ;  and  enjoy  the  so 
ciety  of  his  friends  and  diffuse  special  happiness  around  him. 
On  such  conditions  old  age  is  lovable.  I  shall  endeavor  to 
follow  your  example." 

Writing  to  Mrs.  Kennedy  in  April,  1853,  Mr.  Irving  says, 
"  It  gives  me  sincere  pleasure  to  hear  that  your  father  contin 
ues  in  his  usual  health.  I  trust  that  he  has  his  musical  even 
ings  and  his  pet  minstrels  to  play  and  sing  for  him.  There 
will  never  be  any  wrinkles  in  his  mind  as  long  as  he  can  enjoy 
music  and  have  youth  and  beauty  to  administer  to  him."  And 
when,  in  the  autumn  of  the  next  year,  his  old  friend  began  to 
fail,  the  same  genial  correspondent  writes  to  Mr.  Kennedy  from 
Sunnyside  :  "  I  am  concerned  to  learn  that  Mr.  Gray's  health 
has  been  feeble  of  late,  and  that  he  has  had  days  of  suffering 
and  nights  of  prolonged  nervous  distress.  Your  account  of 
his  firm  presentiment  that  he  was  to  close  his  earthly  career 
on  his  birth-day  ;  of  his  business  arrangements  for  the  event, 
and  the  calm  serenity  with  which  he  awaited  it,  is  really  touch 
ing  and  beautiful.  It  only  proves  how  worthy  he  is  of  length 


254:  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

of  days,  for  no  one  is  so  fitted  to  live  as  he  who  is  well  prepared 
to  die.  God  send  him  many  more  years,  with  a  body  as  free 
from  pain  as  his  mind  is  from  evil  and  his  heart  from  unkind- 
ness.  He  has  every  thing  that  should  accompany  old  age — • 
*  as  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends,'  and  he  is  an  in 
stance  of  how  lovable  old  age  may  render  itself." 

All  the  details  of  the  closing  scenes  of  such  a  life  have  a 
pathetic  charm  and  a  gracious  lesson ;  they  are  given  with  all 
simplicity  and  truth,  in  the  following  extracts  from  Mr.  Ken 
nedy's  journal  : 

Baltimore,  Dec.  16,  1855. — Warm,  misty  day.  Mr.  Gray 
continues  as  heretofore, — very  low,  but  without  any  actual  sign 
of  death.  His  mind  is  wholly  gone,  so  that  during  a  part  of 
the  day  he  does  not  know  what  he  is  saying.  The  constant 
attendance  which  he  requires  from  his  daughters,  is  making  a 
sad  inroad  upon  their  health.  They  get  very  little  rest  in  the 
twenty-four  hours.  Mr.  G.  tells  Martha  he  wishes  her  to  die 
with  him, — says  he  knows  she  will,  and  seems  to  take  pleasure 
in  the  thought  of  it. 

I  go  to  my  office.  After  dinner  sit  a  few  moments  with 
Mr.  Gray,  who  continues  in  the  same  condition  as  for  the  last 
week.  His  mind  at  times — and  now  the  greater  portion  of 
his  time — is  quite  obscured  and  wandering.  It  was  very  clear 
day  before  yesterday  for  some  hours.  During  these  he  sent 
for  me,  and  gave  me  some  very  kind  words.  "  God  bless  you, 
my  good  son-in-law  ;  an  honorable  gentleman ; — as  just  a  man 
as  God  is  good."  Here  his  voice  failed  him,  and  as  I  perceived 
that  my  presence  was  exciting  him  somewhat,  I  withdrew.  It 
is  not  often  that  he  is  inclined  to  speak  to  any  one  but  his 
daughters — as  it  costs  him  an  effort  to  say  more  than  a  few 
words. 

Baltimore,  March  21,  1856. — Here  is  Good  Friday,  a  pleas 
ant  day  though  a  little  damp.  Lizzie  at  breakfast  tells  me 
her  father  is  sinking.  I  go  up  to  see  him  about  10  o'clock. 
His  breathing  is  short  and  oppressed,  though  apparently  not 
painful.  I  speak  to  him,  but  he  makes  no  recognition.  His 


EDWARD    GRAY.  255 

eyes  are  shut,  and  he  takes  no  notice  of  any  one.  I  return  to 
his  chamber  at  12.  The  moment  I  opened  the  door  was  his 
last,  he  had  just  parted  with  life  so  gently  and  calmly  that  it 
was  scarcely  distinguishable  to  those  around  his  bed.  All 
were  in  tears.  I  sat  awhile  looking  at  the  serene  features 
which  I  was  accustomed  to  see  so  racked  with  pain.  There 
he  lay,  blessed  at  last  with  a  repose  for  which  he  has  .never 
ceased  to  pray  for  years  past.  This'  is  the  end  here  of  the 
habitation  on  earth  of  a  brave,  warm-hearted,  generous  and 
upright  man,  whose  path  in  life  he  took  care  to  strew  with 
bounties  to  the  poor  and  the  weak,  and  to  lighten  with  the 
gratitude  of  his  friends  for  constant  service  rendered  to  them. 
Baltimore,  March  23,  1856. — I  take  a  little  sprig  of  haw 
thorn  which  Mr.  Gray  gave  me  ten  years  ago,  with  an  injunc 
tion  to  keep  it.  and  to  place  it  on  his  breast  at  his  death.  I 
have  had  it  locked  up  ever  since.  It  was  gathered  from  the 
grounds  of  his  native  dwelling-place  in  Ireland,  and  his  fancy 
was  to  have  it  buried  with  him.  It  is  a  sprig  of  leaves  and 
blossoms.  I  gave  it  to  Martha, — and  this  evening,  I  go  to  his 
chamber  and  arrange  it  on  his  breast. 

"  The  sight  of  your  letter,  just  received,"  writes  Mr.  Irving 
to  Mr.  Kennedy,  "  with  its  black  seal  and  edgings,  gave  me  a 
severe  shock,  though  I  thought  I  was  prepared  for  the  event  it 
communicated.  The  death  of  my  most  dear  and  valued  friend 
Mr.  Gray,  is  a  relief  to  himself  and  to  the  affectionate  hearts 
around  him,  who  witnessed  his  prolonged  sufferings ;  but  I, 
who  have  been  out  of  hearing  of  his  groans,  can  only  remem 
ber  him  as  he  was  in  his  genial  moments — the  generous  and 
kind-hearted  centre  of  a  loving  circle,  dispensing  happiness 
around  him.  My  intimacy  with  him,  in  recent  years,  had  fully 
opened  to  me  the  varied  excellence  of  his  character  and  most 
heartily  attached  me  to  him.  To  be  under  his  roof  at  Baltimore 
or  at  Ellicott's  Mills,  was  to  be  in  a  constant  state  of  quiet  en 
joyment.  Every  thing  that  I  saw  in  him  and  in  those  about 
him  ;  in  his  tastes,  habits,  modes  of  life  ;  in  his  domestic  rela 
tions  and  chosen  intimacies,  continually  struck  upon  some  hap- 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

py  chord  in  my  own  bosom,  and  put  me  in  tune  with  the  world 
and  with  human  nature.  I  cannot  expect,  in  my  brief  remnant 
of  existence,  to  replace  such  a  friend  and  such  a  domestic  cir 
cle  rallying  round  him  ;  but  the  remembrance  will  ever  be  most 
dear  to  me." 

The  physical  prostration  incident  to  so  long  and  anxious  a 
vigil  of  love,  added  to  the  keenest  filial  grief,  had  so  affected 
the  health  of  his  daughters,  that  the  family  physician  advised 
an  entire  change  of  life  and  scene  as  the  best  means  of  recu 
peration.     "  Elizabeth  and  Martha,"  writes  Mr.  Kennedy  (Bal 
timore,  March  27,  1856),  "  are  so  wretchedly  broken  up  by  their 
long  attendance  upon  their  father's  sick-bed,— having  been  five 
months  without  ever  having  gone  out  of  the  front  door,— that 
I  am  advised  by  Buckler,  to  take  them  away  from  here  as  soon 
as  I  can.     We  have  been  talking  over  the  matter  to-day,  and 
have  concluded  to  make  a  short  trip  to  Charleston  and  Savan 
nah,  to  return  about  the  first  of  May,  and,  after  that,  to  go  to 
England  and  Ireland  to  spend  the  summer  months,  and  get 
back  here  in  October.     The  only  difficulty  I  have  in  this  is 
the  inconvenience  of  leaving  here  during  the  Presidential  can 
vass,  in  which  I  may  be  of  service  to  Mr.  Fillmore.     If  I  can 
make  arrangements  to  obviate  this,  I  shall  feel  no  hesitation 
in  going."     Accordingly,  on  the  tenth  of  May,  1856,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Kennedy  and  Miss  Gray  embarked  on  their  first  visit  to 
Europe.    The  companion  of  their  tour  was  a  lovely  young  neigh 
bor,  the  child  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  oldest  friend— Miss  Sophy 
Pennington,  who  accompanied  him  everywhere,  like  a  daugh 
ter,  and  added  the  charm  of  beauty  to  the  social  attractions 
of  the  party. 

The  early  summer  was  passed  in  England,  and  their  stay  in 
London  was  rendered  attractive  by  the  acquaintance,  hospital 
ity,  and,  in  several  instances,  the  friendship  of  prominent  mem 
bers  of  the  learned  professions  and  men  of  political  and  literary 
eminence.  Many  old  and  not  a  few  new  friends  enlivened  the 
season  for  them  ;  Mr.  Kennedy  alludes  warmly  to  the  hospital 
ities  and  the  companionship  of  the  Bishop  of  Oxford,  Deans 


VISIT    TO    EUROPE. 


257 


Milman  and  Trench,  Professor  Whewell,  Lord  Aberdeen,  Ar 
thur  Gordon,  Mr.  Grote,  Miss  Coutts,  Sir  H.  Bulwer,  Lord 
Houghton,  Thackeray,  Charles  Kean,  Sir  Francis  Beaufort, 
the  Earl  of  Stanhope,  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  the  Earl  of  Elgin, 
Sir  Henry  and  Lady  Holland,  and  many  others.  At  Lord 
Carlisle's,  in  Dublin,  whom  he  had  known  so  well  in  America, 
then  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  he  had  the  pleasure  of  meet 
ing  Sir  Philip  Crampton,  the  father  of  his  old  friend  the  British 
Minister  at  Washington  ;  and  there  also  he  saw  some  gallant 
army  officers  fresh  from  the  Crimean  war ;  he  made  a  delight 
ful  tour  in  Ireland  and  visited  Sir  Richard  Pakenham,  with 
whom  he  had  travelled  in  Canada,  when  that  gentleman  repre 
sented  Great  Britain  in  the  United  States.  And,  returning  to 
England,  he  explored  Stratford,  Warwick,  Leamington  and  Ox 
ford,  and  reached  London  again  at  midsummer  ;  here  he  found 
several  of  his  countrymen  and  women  with  whom  he  had  long 
been  on  terms  of  friendship  ;  and  together  they  made  excursions 
in  the  environs  and  enjoyed  social  reunions.  Then  his  party 
made  a  trip  through  Germany  to  Switzerland,  of  which  journey 
his  account  is  complete  and  interesting,  but  the  experience  is 
one  very  familiar  to  continental  tourists.  They  returned  to 
England  by  the  way  of  Holland,  and  lingered  at  Amsterdam, 
the  Hague,  Rotterdam  and  Antwerp,  to  examine  Flemish  art 
and  the  scenes  of  the  memorable  history  of  the  Netherlands. 
An  amusing  occurrence  is  recorded  in  his  journal  during  his 
visit  to  Sir  Richard  Pakenham : 

Coolure  House,  July  6,  1856. — I  have  a  curious  incident 
this  morning.  The  weather  is  cloudy  and  windy,  and  I  am 
awake  at  what  I  suppose  to  be  a  very  early  hour,  reckoning  it 
about  four.  I  hear  a  rapping  at  a  door  which  I  believe  to  be 
one  leading  out  of  the  house  down  stairs.  The  raps  are  re 
peated  at  intervals  with  increasing  vehemence.  I  think  some 
out-of-door  servant  wishing  to  get  in,  has  come  so  early  that 
nobody  in  the  house  is  awake  ; — more  rapping  : — more  still 
through  half  an  hour.  I  wonder  no  one  answers.  I  get  up 
and  look  out  at  the  window,  but  can  see  no  one.  Rapping 


258  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

again,  quite  violent.  I  propose  to  myself  to  get  up  and  go 
down  stairs  and  let  the  man  in,  but  reflect,  it  is  no  business 
of  mine,  so  I  lie  still.  Bang !  goes  a  gun,  I  jump  up  and  run  to 
the  window,  but  see  no  one.  Finally,  growing  insensible  to 
rapping,  I  fall  asleep — thinking  it  must  now  be  near  eight  o'clock. 
Charles  will  be  in  presently  to  attend  to  me.  The  next  I  know 
is  the  entrance  of  Sir  Richard  and  Charles  into  my  room,  with 
an  anxious  salutation — what  is  the  matter  with  me?  Am  I 
ill  ?  I  am  quite  confounded  with  the  stir  of  this  accost.  Sir 
Richard  tells  me  it  is  ten  o'clock, — that  Charles  came  to  my 
door  at  eight  and  found  it  locked,  and  that  he  rapped  to  waken 
me  so  long,  without  effect,  that  the  family  became  alarmed  ; 
that  he,  Sir  Richard,  tried  to  wake  me  by  rapping,  and  then 
firing  a  gun ;  and  that  as  all  had  failed,  they  had  spliced  two 
ladders  together  and  Charles  had  got  in  at  my  window — 
quite  a  perilous  adventure.  I  was  utterly  amazed  ;  it  never  oc 
curred  to  me  that  I  was  the  subject  of  these  efforts,  supposing 
that  my  door  was  unlocked  ;  I  had  no  consciousness  of  having 
locked  it.  It  was  another  door  to  a  dressing-room,  which  was 
an  ante-chamber  to  where  I  slept,  and  the  inner  door  being 
closed,  I  could  not  recognize  the  origin  of  the  noise  as  being 
so  near  me.  We  have  a  laugh  at  this  absurd  termination  of  a 
fright.  I  dress  rapidly,  and  get  to  breakfast  somewhat  before 
eleven,  where  I  find  Miss  Pakenham  kindly  and  anxiously 
waiting  for  me." 

Mr.  Kennedy  also  briefly  mentions  two  characteristic 
scenes  of  his  familiar  tour : 

Altorf,  Aug,  1 2th,  1856. — We  see  the  two  fountains  from 
one  to  the  other  of  which  Tell  shot  the  apple.  On  the  foun 
tain  near  which  the  boy  stood  there  is  a  statute  of  Tell  and 
his  son.  While  we  are  looking  at  this  place  a  singular  scene 
presents  itself.  There  is  a  crowd  of  the  inhabitants,  mostly 
children  and  women,  standing  around  the  front  of  a  large 
building,  a  man  in  a  cloak  quartered  with  black  and  yellow 
stands  near  the  building,  and  at  a  short  distance  off,  another  in 
the  same  strange  dress.  A  man  decently  clad  is  standing  on 


VISIT   TO    EUROPE.  259 

a  stone  block,  with  a  large  placard  hung  over  his  breast,  on 
which  is  printed  to  word  "etriigera" — to  us  quite  incompre 
hensible.  The  man's  expression  is  one  of  great  pain.  We 
find  that  he  has  been  convicted  of  cheating  in  a  lottery,  and 
is  standing  in  disgrace  before  the  town.  While  we  are  look 
ing  at  him,  the  officer  in  the  cloak  walks  up  to  him  and 
takes  off  the  placard.  The  man  immediately  strips  his  jacket 
and  shirt  from  the  shoulders,  and  the  officer  gives  him  on 
the  bare  back,  thirty  stripes  with  a  kind  of  birch  broom, 
which  apparently  gave  but  little  pain.  The  whipping  is  over 
in  about  a  minute,  and  the  man  dresses  himself  and  walks 
off.  This  is  the  high  place  of  Altorf— just  where  Tell  defied 
Gesler. 

Paris,  Sept.  5,  1856. — I  was  amused  yesterday  in  the  Ca 
thedral  of  Notre  Dame  with  a  characteristic  trait.  There  is  a 
special  altar  and  chapel  to  the  Virgin  in  one  of  the  angles  of 
the  Cathedral,  where  fifty  little  candles, — offerings  of  devotees, 
were  burning,  several  persons  on  their  knees,  and  a  number  of 
chairs  placed,  fronting  towards  the  shrine.  Two  gentlemen, 
English  or  American,  had  taken  two  of  these  chairs,  and  were 
sitting  with  their  backs  to  the  Virgin.  An  official  in  uniform 
approached  them,  and  ordered  them  to  rise,  which  they  did. 
He  then  turned  their  chairs  to  front  the  image,  saying  "  Mess 
ieurs,  Prenez  votres  chaises  comme  Us  sont.  C'est  plus  convena- 
ble"  Of  course  his  idea  was  that  they  were  guilty  of  impolite 
ness  in  sitting  with  their  backs  to  the  Virgin.  He  could  con 
ceive  of  it  in  no  other  way  than  that  the  Virgin  was  actually 
present, — that  the  image  was  the  Virgin" 

One  of  the  first  and  dearest  objects  of  the  travellers  was  to 
visit  the  birth-place  of  Mr.  Gray,  of  which  the  following  de 
scription  is  recorded  in  Mr.  Kennedy's  journal : 

Newton,  Limaraddy,  June  27,  1856. — We  take  the  train  to 
Newton  Limaraddy,  with  a  view  to  visit  Mr.  Gray's  birth-place 
near  Dungiven, — on  the  river  Roe.  Mr.  Haslett  goes  with  us. 
Reach  Newton  at  n,  get  a  couple  of  jaunting  cars,  and  set  out 
for  Dungiven, — a  beautiful  road,  and  through  a  beautiful,  well 


260  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

cultivated  country.     We  see  Ben  Bradagh,  the  mountain  Mr. 
Gray  t?lked  so  much  about.     It  lies  just  upon  our  road,  which 
follows  the  course  of  the  Roe.     It  is  a  bald,  steep  hill,  some 
five  hundred  feet  high.     About  two  miles  from  Dungiven  is 
the  old  Presbyterian  Church  of  Mr.  Gray's  father,  where  he 
was  pastor ;   within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  it   the  house  in 
which  he  lived  and  where  Mr.  Gray  was  born.     It  is  now  en 
larged  into  two  stories  and  modernized.     It  was  formerly  a  long, 
low,  one-storied  stone  cottage,  with  thatched  roof.    It  is  the  res 
idence  of  the  present  pastor,  Mr.  .Macgill,  who  with  his  wife 
receives  us  very  kindly.     The  river  Roe  washes  the  foot  of 
the  old  garden, — now  converted  into  lawn.     The  shrubbery 
remains,  and  particularly  we  notice  the  old    hawthorn  tree,  of 
which  we  had  heard  so  much.     The  situation  is  one  of  fine  ru 
ral  beauty,  and  the  country  around  very  pretty.     The  ladies 
are  greatly  affected  by  this  visit,  and  a  sad  hour  is  spent  here. 
We  find  some  beggars  near  the  gate  and  give  them  several 
shillings.     We  now  set  off  to  Dungiven,  where  we  arrive  in 
a  short  time,  having  passed  some  beautiful  enclosed  grounds 
belonging   to  a  Mr.  Ogilvy.     Before  going   to  Dungiven  we 
drive  to  the  house  of  the  Misses  Kyles,  a  mile  back,  where  it 
seems  Mr.  Haslett  had  stopped  on  the  way  to  advise  them  of 
our  drive,  and  who,  through  him,  invited  us  to  lunch  there. 
The  father  of  the  ladies  was  an   old  friend  of  Mr.  Gray's, 
and  member  of  his  father's  church.     They  give  us  a  good  re 
past  with  fine  preserved  plums,  raspberries,  beef,  etc.,  and  par 
ticularly  good  butter   and  cream,  which  abound  through  this 
country.      Dungiven  is  a  village  with  a  long-winding  street  of 
thatched  cottages,  and  an  untenanted  castle  at  the  upper  end, 
some  beautiful  old  trees  and  a  fine  mountain  view.     Here  the 
ladies  propose  to  return  for  a  day  or  two,  to  order  some  matters 
touching  a  memorial  of  their  father  in  the  old  church,  and  to 
give  something  to  the  poor  of  the  parish." 

The  manner  in  which  this  act  of  filial  piety  was  accomplish 
ed,  we  learn  from  a  letter  of  the  present  pastor  of  the  old 
church  where  Mr.  Gray's  father  once  ministered  : 


VISIT   TO    EUROPE.  261 


BOVERA  MANSE,  Near  Londonderry,  i 
Ireland,  Sept.  llth,  1856. 

DEAR  MRS.  KENNEDY  : — I  now  write  to  inform  you  that  Mr. 
Kirk  has  completed  the  tablet  and  sent  one  of  his  workmen  to 
erect  it.  We  placed  it  on  the  left  side  of  the  pulpit,  where  it  is 
visible  to  nearly  all  the  congregation.  It  is  exceedingly  hand 
some  and  chaste,  and  the  inscription  very  appropriate.  On  the 
Sabbath  after  its  erection,  I  explained  from  the  pulpit  to  the 
congregation,  that  it  was  erected  to  the  memory  of  one  of  their 
late  ministers,  the  Rev.  Francis  Gray,  and  also  to  his  son,  who, 
through  life,  cherished  a  fond  attachment  to  the  place  of  his 
birth.  Many  of  the  old  members  of  the  congregation  have 
told  me  how  distinctly  they  remember  your  late  revered  father. 
This  tablet  will  tell  their  children's  children  that  there  was  one 
noble  heart,  though  far  away,  which  clung  to  the  spot  where  he 
was  baptized  and  was  first  taught  to  worship  the  God  of  his 
fathers.  "  May  we  all  mark  the  perfect  man  and  behold  the 
upright,  for  the  end  of  that  man  is  peace." 

Your  family  name  is  very  dear  to  all  the  people  in  this 
neighborhood.     May  you  and  your  sister  be  long  spared  to  do 
good,  and  to  be  called  blessed  as  your  fathers  have  been. 
I  am,  very  sincerely,  yours, 

A.  MACGILL. 

The  following  is  the  inscription  on  the  tablet : 

"!N  MEMOBIAM: 
TO   EDWARD   GRAY: 

Who  died  in  the  city  of  Baltimore,  in  the  United  States  of 
America,  on  the  twenty-first  of  March,  185  6,  in  the  eightieth  year 
of  his  age.  He  was  a  native  of  this  parish,  the  son  of  the  Rev. 
Francis  Gray,  who  for  forty  years  held  the  station  of  pastor  of 
this  congregation.  He  emigrated  to  America  in  his  early  youth, 
and  through  a  long  and  prosperous  career,  crowned  with  the 
honor  of  a  virtuous  life,  in  which  his  benevolence  and  charities 


262  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

kept  pace  with  his  success,  his  heart  ever  throbbed  with  fresh 
affection  towards  the  persons  and  scenes  which  were  associated 
in  the  memory  of  his  childhood  with  this  humble  house  of  God. 
"  As  a  tribute  most  appropriate  to  that  affection,  and  as  an 
expression  of  their  own  sympathy  with  its  object,  his  two  daugh 
ters,  his  only  children,  while  on  a  visit  from  America  to  this 
spot,  have  caused  this  tablet  to  be  erected  on  the  ist  of  July, 
1856." 


Mr.  Kennedy  and  the  ladies  returned  home  in  improved 
health  ;  and  he  thus  sums  up  the  programme  of  their  excursion  : 

Baltimore,  Tuesday,  October  21,  185^* — I  have  been  ab 
sent  from  home  five  months  and  ten  d^ys.  We  arrived  here 
last  night.  During  this  interval  I  have*  seen  a  very  interest 
ing  portion  of  the  Old  World,  and  have  had  an  opportunity  to 
see  many  interesting  objects  in  the  cities  and  countries  of  Eu 
rope,  and  many  interesting  and  eminent  persons  in  England ; 
in  regard  to  which  latter  country  I  have  a  most  agreeable 
disappointment.  I  have  found  it  a  beautiful,  cultivated  and 
embellished  land,  full  of  generous,  kind-hearted  and  hospitable 
people,  enriched  with  the  highest  intellectual  accomplishment, 
the  noblest  virtues,  and  the  most  liberal  sentiment.  I  have  no 
memory  or  association  relating  to  England,  Ireland  and  Scot 
land  but  such  as  fill  me  with  respect  and  esteem,  and  the 
warmest  regard  for  the  people.  Our  travels  may  be  described 
as  a  voyage  to  Liverpool  in  the  finest  ship  of  the  ocean  j  from 
Liverpool  to  Chester  and  back ;  to  London — a  sojourn  there 
of  over  three  weeks,  with  excursions  to  Sandhurst,  to  Rich 
mond,  to  Albury  and  other  places  ;  then  to  Shrewsbury, 
Bangor,  Holyhood,  Dublin,  Londonderry,  Dungiven,  Ennis- 
killen  to  Mulligan,  and  Castle  Pollard  to  Wicklow,  to  Kil- 
larny  and  back  to  Dublin ;  then  to  London,  to  France  by 
Dover  and  Calais,  to  Lisle,  to  Ghent,  to  Brussels,  to  Antwerp, 
to  Cologne, — then  up  the  Rhine  to  Coblentz,  to  Mayence,  to 


VISIT   TO    EUROPE. 


Frankfort,  to  Baden  Baden,  Strasbourg,  Basle,  Zurich,  Lucerne, 
Interlaken,  Thun,  Berne,  Frieburg,  Avey,  Martigny,  Chamouni, 
Geneva,  Lyons,  Dijon  to  Paris ;  to  England  again  by  Calais 
and  Dover, — to  London,  Windsor,  Oxford,  Cheltenham,  Car 
lisle,  Glasgow,  Edinburgh,  Melrose,  York,  and  so  to  Liverpool 
and  back  to  the  United  States." 


LIFE   OF   JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Ill-Health  ;  Lameness  ;  Clieerf  ul  endurance  thereof ;  Literary  Pro 
jects  ;  Notes  for  Essays ;  Miscellaneous  Writings ;  Autograph 
Leaves ;  Occasional  Addresses ;  Taste  in  Literature ;  Advice  to  a 
Young  Author ;  Adieu  to  his  Library  ;  Social  Honoas. 

EXCEPT  his  immediate  family  none  of  Mr.  Kennedy's 
intimate  associates  were  aware  how  great  and  frequent 
were  his  physical  sufferings.  The  cheerfulness  of  his  temper 
and  his  self-abnegation,  made  him  appear  well  at  times  when  less 
buoyant  and  more  querulous  invalids  would  appeal  to  sympa 
thy  or  take  refuge  in  morbid  discontent.  With  a  fine  nervous 
organization  he  was  never  robust,  and  the  least  exposure  or  ir 
regularity  brought  on  either  feverish  symptoms,  debility,  or  lo 
cal  pain ;  while  atmospheric  changes  induced  attacks  of  eczema. 
Of  the  course,  causes  and  character  of  this  malady  he  kept 
notes  that  enabled  him  to  draw  up  a  singularly  lucid  statement, 
which  has  all  the  precision  of  a  medical  report ;  this  he  did 
because  the  professional  advice  he  received  at  home  and 
abroad,  indicated  that  the  case  was  an  obscure  one ;  and  his 
remarks  as  to  the  effects  of  different  mineral  springs  remind 
one  of  Montaigne's,  in  his  continental  tour,  wherein  the 
philosophical  invalid  and  the  cosmopolitan  traveller  are  co- 
evident.  For  more  than  twenty  years  Mr.  Kennedy  was  sub 
ject  to  attacks  of  this  tormenting  cutaneous  disorder  ;  its  worst 
effect  was  upon  his  eyes,  which  were  often  so  weakened  there 
by,  that  he  was  obliged  to  refrain,  for  weeks,  from  reading  or 
writing.  He  bore  this  trial  with  heroic  patience,  and,  as  usual, 
made  light  of  it  in  his  correspondence ;  "  the  foul  fiend,"  he 
says  in  a  letter  to  his  uncle  Phil,  "  has  got  hold  of  me.  I  am 
sore  with  a  peeling  soreness,  like  an  onion,  every  day  stripping 


ILL-HEALTH.  265 

a  coat  and  sometimes  many  coats,  like  the  grave-digger  in 
Hamlet."  In  addition  to  this  occasional  ailment,  his  lameness 
was  a  severe  trial  ;  two  falls  had  permanently  injured  the  sci 
atic  nerve,  and  besides  the  obstacle  to  walking,  entailed  visita 
tions  of  severe  pain.  When  exempt  therefrom,  his  spirits  rose 
and  his  enjoyment  of  physical  existence  was  intense  ;  and  when 
hampered  and  secluded  thereby,  he  kept  complaint  and  de 
pression  in  abeyance,  and  treated  his  trials  with  determined 
good  humor  and  playful  defiance,  as  the  following  extracts 
from  his  letters  illustrate  :  "  My  dear  uncle,  after  a  week  of 
anti-lumbago  discipline  I  begin  to  be  somewhat  easy ;  lucky 
it  was  I  suspended  my  trip  to  your  region.  The  day  I  had 
appointed  to  set  out  was  spent  in  great  pain,  and  for  some 
days  after  I  was  unable  to  move.  By  the  aid  of  mustard,  ros 
in,  belladonna  and  I  don't  know  what,  laid  on  as  plasters,  I  was 
at  length  tinkered 'in  to  convalescence,  leaving  a  square  of  about 
eight  inches  over  the  lumbar  region  welted  into  a  semi-blister 
and  giving  to  the  eye  the  impression  of  having  been  thrashed 
with  a  waffle-iron.  These  I  presume  may  be  considered  as  my 
certificates  of  admission  into  the  Horn  Gate  of  50  ; — '  let  us 
see  your  back  ;  all  right,  walk  in  :'  when  a  man  is  passing  that 
gate  his  friends  must  not  expect  him  to  be  punctual  to  railroad 
appointments  ;  that  is  the  moral."  And  at  an  earlier  period, 
when  on  sick  leave  from  Washington,  he  writes  :  "  The  good 
luck  of  the  thing  is  that  I  thus  get  the  privileges  of  home, 
which,  even  with  the  accompaniment  of  the  physic,  is  so  much 
better  than  the  Capital  without  it.  We  are  on  the  lookout  for 
a  pair  of  canvas-backs  in  return  for  your  wild  turkey.  As  the 
harvest  is  cut,  garnered  and  thrashed,  we  may  indulge  in  a 
little  respite  for  social  purposes.  We  are  all  here  in  a  semi- 
salubrious  state,  that  is,  seasoning  a  somewhat  meagre  stock 
of  health  with  as  much  grumbling  as  is  calculated  to  render  it 
spicy." 

During  his  convalescence  from  a  more  acute  disorder,  he 
thus  writes : 


12 


266  LIFE    OF    JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 


BALTIMORE,  May  9, 1845. 
To  THE  HON.  ROBERT  C.  WINTHROP. 

MY  DEAR  WINTHROP  : — I  can  scarcely  guide  my  pen  now 
at  the  thirty-seventh  day  since  I  was  assailed  by  what  the  doc 
tors  consider  a  mild  typhoid  fever.  I  am  exceedingly  weak, 
though  gaining  something  every  day  in  the  way  of  re-establish 
ment.  I  am  tempted  to  this  effort,  however,  by  the  desire  I 
have  to  thank  you  for  your  letters,  so  long  unanswered,  and 
also  to  show  you  how  far  in  the  process  of  re-integration  I 
have  advanced.  I  have  been  truly,  as  the  sailors  say,  reduced 
to  bare  poles,  and  being  now  in  such  a  primordial  state  of  mere 
frame-work,  I  have  hopes,  if  there  be  any  really  good  material 
extant  for  the  making  up  of  a  new  man,  to  be  able  to  supply 
myself  with  a  complete  re-assortment  of  elements  altogether 
more  worthy  of  respect  than  the  castings-off  which  my  fever 
took  for  its  own  aliment.  Don't  be  surprised,  therefore,  if 
you  should  see  at  —  —  this  summer,  a  much  more  reputable 
image  or  phantasm  of  your  friend  than  you  have  seen  before. 
I  am  clearly  a  candidate  for  the  best  fashions  and  under  less 
impediments  than  most  men  who  are  concerned  for  the  repair 
of  their  tenements  of  clay.  I  have  ridden  out  once,  and  mean 
to  repeat  the  experiment  to-day. 

My  appetite  is  beginning  to  take  a  slight  savor  of  that  of 
the  shark — though,  in  this  matter  of  eating,  I  am  yet  a  man 
forbid.  We  shall  get  to  the  country  in  a  fortnight,  after  which 
I  go  to  my  niece  Annie's  wedding,  and  then  I  hope,  about  the 
last  days  of  June,  to  set  out  with  Mrs.  K.  for  New  Bedford,  to 
keep  our  appointment  for  the  fourth  of  July,  This  may  depend 
upon  Mr.  Gray's  health,  which,  at  present,  is  very  bad,  and  may 
become  critical.  I  hope  otherwise,  and  count  on  seeing  you  as 
proposed.  Remember  me  kindly  to  Grinnell  and  his  family, 
and  present  Mrs.  K.  and  myself,  with  the  kindest  regards,  to 
your  sister  and  Dr.  Warren,  to  Miss  Tappan  and  other  good 
friends  of  your  circle.  Weak  in  hand  but  strong  in  all  man 
ner  of  esteem,  I  am,  my  dear  friend,  truly  yours, 

J.  P.  KENNEDY. 


LAMENESS.  267 

In  the  following  letter  reference  is  made  to  the  lameness 
before  noted,  as  having  increased  ;  thenceforth  it  interfered 
with  active  habits,  and  had  a  serious  effect  upon  his  general 
health  : 

BALTIMORE,  OCT.  23,  1860. 
To  HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN. 

MY  DEAR  TUCKERMAN  :— On  passing  through  Philadelphia 
I  stopped  long  enough  to  make  a  visit  to  Mr.  Lippincott,  to 
whom  I  gave  directions  to  send  you  a  copy  of  all  my  books, 
and  I  made  an  inscription  to  you  on  the  fly  leaf  of  "  Swallow 
Barn,"  the  first  in  the  series.  It  is  more  than  a  month  since  I 
gave  this  order,  and  I  hope  they  have  long  since  reached  you, 
as  Mr.  L.  promised  to  send  them  to  you  without  delay.  I  beg 
you  to  accept  them  as  a  remembrance  of  the  pleasant  hours  we 
have  spent  together,  and  as  a  token  of  my  regard,  which  I  hope 
you  will  allow  me  an  opportunity  to  testify  to  you  in  my  own 
house,  here  in  Baltimore,  whenever  your  wanderings  may  bring 
you  to  this  State. 

My  lameness,  which  was  painful  enough  when  I  was  in  New 
port,  has  so  much  increased  as  to  attract  the  attention  of  my 
physician,  who  has  ordered  me  into  a  state  of  rest,  which  prom 
ises  to  confine  me  to  my  study  the  greater  part  of  the  coining 
winter. 

This  is  one  of  the  experiences  of  life,  to  which  I  have  learn 
ed  to  submit  with  a  good  grace.     It  turns  my  thoughts  very  nat 
urally  to  the  cultivation  of  the  society  of  my  friends,  among 
whom  I  am  particularly  happy  to  consider  you  one. 
With  kindest  regard,  I  am, 

Very  truly  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

Nearly  twenty  years  had  elapsed  since  the  original  accident 
occurred  which  caused  this  infirmity  ;  and  it  is  alluded  to  with 
the  same  cheerful  patience  in  the  letter  which  thus  describes 
its  origin : 


268  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


ELLICOTT'S  MILLS,  Oct.  13, 1843. 
To  HON.  R.  C.  WINTHROP. 

MY  DEAR  WINTHROP  : — Mrs.  Kennedy  has  just  received 
your  kind  letter,  and  as  I  am  able  to  speak  for  myself,  I.  take 
upon  me  to  answer.  I  was  thrown  on  the  first  day  of  this 
month,  from  my  horse,  while  riding  in  the  neighborhood,  not 
near  Baltimore,  as  the  papers  had  it,  by  a  very  culpable  piece 
of  carelessness,  which  I  fear  will  seriously  disparage  my  preten 
sions  to  horsemanship.  Mr.  Gray  has  a  pony  of  many  virtues, 
but  tarnished,  as  too  often  happens  with  other  accomplished 
beings,  with  one  most  censurable  vice.  It  is  this ;  a  peculiar  en 
joyment  of  the  surprise  which  he  fancies  he  raises  in  your  breast 
by  unexpectedly  throwing  you  to  the  ground.  This  is  quite  a 
passion  with  him.  He  is  always  on  the  qui  vive  to  get  this  ad 
vantage  of  you,  and  his  mode  of  accomplishing  it  is  to  take  a 
moment  when  he  thinks  you  are  off  your  guard,  and,  by  the  sud 
den  describing  of  a  quadrant  of  a  circle  with  his  body,  upon  the 
pivot  of  his  hind  legs,  towards  the  right  or  left  of  his  path,  to 
drop  you  exactly  plumb  beneath  the  position  which  you  occu 
pied  at  the  commencement  of  the  feat.  The  story  went  in  the 
family,  that  he  was  scary ;  but  I  have  found  that  this  is  a  mis 
conception.  He  does  the  thing  as  a  good  joke.  It  was  mis 
taking  this  fact  that  led  to  my  accident.  I  had  been  riding 
through  a  thicket,  from  which  I  had  just  emerged  covered 
with  down  and  cobwebs  ;  and  entering  upon  a  common  which 
was  sprinkled  over  with  stones,  and  going  at  a  slow  walk,  with 
nothing  in  view  that  was  likely  to  frighten  the  little  beast,  I 
dropped  the  reins  carelessly  upon  his  neck,  and  was  shaking 
the  lappels  of  my  coat  with  both  hands,  when  he  made  the  math 
ematical  digressions  I  have  referred  to  ;  he  reared  back  a  little 
at  a  time  and  lowered  his  head,  so  as  to  bring  my  right  leg 
very  quickly  and  cleanly  over  the  pommel,  and  then  to  drop  me 
with  a  very  severe  concussion  on  the  stony  field.  The  point 
of  contact  with  the  ground  was  my  left  hip,  and  the  effect  of 
the  blow  was  to  keep  me,  when  I  fell,  incapable  of  motion  about 


LAMENESS.  209 

an  hour  and  a  half,  within  which  time  I  was  able  to  obtain  the 
aid  of  persons  in  the  neighborhood.  I  was  borne  to  a  farm 
house,  which  was  fortunately  within  three  or  four  hundred  yards, 
on  a  litter,  and  thence  transported  in  a  cart,  upon  which  my 
litter  was  deposited,  to  my  home  here,  about  two  miles.  A 
surgical  examination  has  shown  some  severe  laceration  of  the 
muscles  and  tendons  of  the  hip,  though  luckily  no  broken  bone. 
I  have  been  on  my  back  ever  since,  and  have  suffered  a  great 
deal  of  pain,  especially  through  the  night.  I  am,  however,  im 
proving  slowly ;  the  pain  has  nearly  left  me,  and  I  have  some 
hopes  that,  in  a  week  or  ten  days,  I  may  at  least  be  permitted 
to  change  my  position  in  bed,  which  has  grown  very  irksome  to 
me.  Perhaps  with  the  aid  of  crutches  I  may  wander  a  little 
about  the  house.'  But  such  mischiefs  are  slow  of  repair,  and 
need  philosophy  as  well  as  medicine.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that 
you  will  be  at  Washington  next  winter  again.  I  think  we  are 
likely  to  find  a  session  of  the  highest  political  interest.  Mrs. 
Kennedy  wishes  me  to  leave  her  space  for  a  few  lines  to  send 
some  kind  remembrance  to  the  ladies  of  your  family.  I  desire 
in  advance  to  join  her  in  tendering  them  the  warmest  sentiments 
of  esteem,  and  to  beg  their  good  wishes.  Very  truly,  your 
friend,  J.  P.  KENNEDY. 

To  the  same  friend  he  thus  comments  on  the  later  aggrava 
tion  of  his  infirmity. 

BALTIMOKE,  Oct.  20tli,  1860. 

MY  DEAR  WINTHROP  : —  *  *  *  I  am  now  a  prisoner 
in  my  study,  scratching  another  and  desperate  notch  in  the 
tally-stick  of  my  life,  to  mark  the  stage  of  my  down-hill  journey. 
My  leg  is  rising  to  the  dignity  of  an  institution,  and  is  organ 
izing  a  government  of  its  own.  It  has  already  a  privy  council 
of  doctors,  three  in  number,  who  are  to  be  here  presently  to 
hold  a  session  upon  the  question,  "  What  is  it  ?"  which  may  or 
may  not  settle  the  point,  now  doubtful  in  my  constitution, 
whether  my  leg  is  to  be  free  or  slave, — extension  or  non  exten- 


270  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

siori  being  the  direct  issue.  The  lameness  has  increased  to 
that  point  that  I  am  ordered  to  abstain  from  walking  for  the 
next  two  or  three  months,  and  the  council  to  day  is  to  deter 
mine  whether  my  rest  is  to  be  horizontal  or  angular,  couchant 
or  seclant.  My  suspicion  is  that  I  shall  be  sentenced  to  be 
burnt  twice  a  week  in  a  circumference  of  spots  around  my  left 
hip,  lightly  laid  on,  with  a  central  fire  more  fiercely  applied 
to  make  a  deep  sore  which  shall  be  fed  once  a  week  by  a  fresh, 
sharp  contact  of  hot  iron.  The  spots  of  the  circumference  I 
should  not  object  to  "  non  ego  offmdar  paucis  maculis" — but 
that  centre  !  They  might  as  well  make  John  Huss  of  me  at 
once  and  for  all,  instead  of  giving  me  Huss  in  dribblets  once  a 
week. 

The  actual  state  of  the  case  is  that  my  lameness  has  been 
increasing  from  day  to  day,  with  certain  manifestations  that 
lead  to  a  surmise  of  the  possibility  of  some  injury  to  the  bone 
of  the  ball  and  socket,  in  which  case  horizontal  rest  will  be 
come  indispensable  to  a  cure.  Another  conjecture  is,  that  the 
disturbance  may  be  in  the  muscular  tissues  or  of  the  integu 
ments, — and  then  the  fire  comes  in  as  the  instrument  of  a  re 
vulsive  action  ;  and  the  case  will  not  prove  so  bad.  Thus, 
you  see,  my  hopes,  at  present,  alternate  between  my  bed  with 
books  and  an  immense  increase  to  my  erudition,  and  my  arm 
chair  with  fire,  crutches,  pen  and  ink  and  a  chance  of  writing 
now  and  then  to  you  and  other  friends,  in  the  interim  be 
tween  those  central  and  periodical  diversions  of  the  doctors. 
I  suppose  in  an  hour  they  will  be  here,  and  I  shall  know  all 
about  it.  Very  truly,  my  dear  Winthrop, 

Yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

Not  long  before  his  death,  Mr.  Kennedy  said  to  his  wife — 
"  What  a  happy  life  I  have  had  !"  "  But,  how  much  illness 
and  pain  !" — She  replied:  "  Not  more  than  was  good  for  me," 
he  answered  ;  "  physical  suffering,  patiently  borne,  is  beneficial 
to  every  one." 


CASUAL    WRITINGS.  271 

Mr.  Kennedy,  during  the  intervals  of  official  life,  planned 
many  literary  works,  some  of  which  he  commenced  and  for 
others  made  copious  notes.  They  indicate  the  varied  scope 
of  his  mind,  and  suggest  how  productive  it  would  have  been, 
in  this  regard,  had  time,  health  and  encouragement  favored  his 
tastes  and  purposes.  "A  book,"  he  writes,  "of  great  value 
might  be  written  or  compiled  on  a  Plan  of  Popular  Instruction, 
in  illustration  of '  What  is  Education  ?'  "  He  proposes  to  write 
a  "  chapter  to  show  that  the  only  democratic  portion  of  our 
Constitution  is  the  House  of  Representatives  ;"  an  essay  on 
"  the  Instinct  of  Society,  and  the  difference  it  produces  in  the 
Old  World  and  the  New  !"  a  paper  on  "  Dupery" — "  show  it  up 
in  a  sketch  of  a  great,  successful  leader  of  the  Locofocos."  He 
left  fragments  of  Ethical  and  Theological  essays ;  on  "  Repent 
ance,"  "  Charity,"  "  The  Mystery  of  Opinion,"  "  Scoundrelism  in 
Politics,"  etc.  "A  fine  subject  for  an  essay,"  he  writes,  "  would 
be  '  Memories  of  Music.'  Without  possessing  any  thing  like  an 
accurate  ear  for  music,  and  knowing  nothing  of  it  as  a  science,  I 
have  still  a  most  vivid  pleasure  in  listening  to  it."  Under  date 
of  Nov.  14,  1853,  he  writes:  "I  commence  to-day  my  prepar 
atory  course  of  investigation  and  notes  for  a  work  I  have  long 
thought  of  writing,  on  the  State  of  Society,  principles  and  polit 
ical  events  of  this  country,  during  the  ten  years  preceding  the 
Revolution."  Again,  while  at  Virginia  Springs,  in  August, 
1857,  he  writes:  "Thinking  over  the  tale  of  the  Dragon,  I 
might  make  it  a  continuation  of  Quodlibet ;  the  Dragon  should 
be  a  symbol  or  personation  of  nullification,  disunion,  seces 
sion,  an  element  in  the  social  and  political  life  of  Quodlibet 
which  makes  discord."  In  December  of  the  same  year  he 
writes  :  "I  am  meditating  a  lecture  for  the  Maryland  Institute, 
and  I  think  I  have  a  good  subject  and  one  which  might  be  in 
teresting — "  Peace,  the  true  conservator  of  the  balance  of  Pow 
er  ;"  I  would  show  that  the  intellectual  culture  of  the  present 
age,  in  the  arts  of  peace,  is  necessarily  educating  nations  for  free 
government — government  by  force  of  protective  laws,  and  that 
we  best  conserve  the  cause  of  human  rights  by  lasting  peace." 


272  LIFE    OF    JOHN    T.  KENNEDY 

Among  the  subjects  of  fragments  of  essays,  in  his  note-books, 
often  in  the  highest  degree  suggestive,  but  too  incomplete  for 
publication  ;  are  "  Immortality,"  "  Longevity,"  "  Ceremonies," 
"Parties,"  "English  Society,"  "Slavery  as  regarded  by  the 
Constitution  and  its  Founders ;"  "  War  the  Great  Abolitionist," 
"  Free  and  Slave  States  Contrasted."  Some  of  the  thoughts 
herein  expressed,  he  afterward  wove  into  his  published  argu 
ments  on  the  questions  of  the  day.  A  series  of  papers  from 
his  pen  appeared  in  the  Baltimore  papers,  many  years  ago, 
called  the  "  Man  in  the  Mask  ;"  and  another  was  commenced 
under  the  title  of  "  Confessions  of  an  Office-Holder."  Other  oc 
casional  contributions,  both  effective  and  seasonable,  are  his 
'letter  on  Imprisonment  for  Debt  (Baltimore  Patriot,  1821;) 
on  the  Public  School  System  (1824)  ;  speech  on  releasing 
Mr.  Jefferson  from  the  pressure  of  debt  (.Baltimore  American 
1826)  ;  The  Brown  Papers  (Baltimore  Patriot,  Sept.  1839). 
To  these  may  be  added  his  appeal  to  the  Whigs  of  Baltimore 
(1844)  ;  remarks  in  the  House  of  Representatives  on  the  Pres 
ervation  of  Washington's  camp  chest ;  letter  on  the  Annexa 
tion  of  Texas  (1844);  Letter  to  Campbell  (1844);  speech  at  the 
Webster  festival  in  Philadelphia ;  letter  to  the  citizens  of  the 
Second  District  in  the  canvass  of  1847  ;  on  the  Mexican  War; 
speech  at  the  Whig  meeting  at  Hagerstown  (Sept.  21,  1848); 
speech  at  a  meeting  of  the  Old  Defenders  (war  of  1812)  to  cel 
ebrate  Washington's  birth-day  Feb.  22,  1852  ;  Address  to  the 
Mechanics  and  Workingmen  of  Baltimore  ;  two  papers  on  the 
Experience  of  a  Middle-aged  Gentleman  (Baltimore  Ameri 
can,  1827) ;  "  To  the  Young  Whigs  of  New  York." 

We  note  these  incidental  writings  and  speeches  because  they 
evidence  the  public  spirit  and  seasonable  advocacy  of  Mr.  Ken 
nedy  on  questions  of  importance  to  the  welfare  of  the  country, 
its  culture  and  progress,  as  well  as  to  the  success  of  his  party. 
After  his  first  experiments  in  addressing  the  masses,  his  style 
and  method  became  practical  as  well  as  eloquent.  In  the  glow 
of  his  patriotic  feelings,  when,  in  early  youth,  he  volunteered 
to  defend  the  city  menaced  by  the  British,  he  wrote  anony- 


OCCASIONAL    WRITINGS.  273 

mously  in  the  local  journals,  appealing  to  his  fellow-citizens  to 
rally  for  the  protection  of  their  homes  ;  but  finding  that  his  ar 
ticles  excited  no  attention,  he  remarks  :  "  I  have  since  learned 
that  fine  writing  fajls  on  the  business  world  like  water  on  a 
duck's  back.'1  While  promptly  meeting  with  his  pen  or  voice  the 
occasional  calls  of  society  and  political  exigencies,  he  yet,  as 
we  have  seen,  constantly  meditated  more  purely  literary  under 
takings  ;  he  observes,  after  writing  a  programme  of  this  kind, 
"  These  are  the  principal  undertakings  on  my  hands  and  which 
I  may  reasonably  hope  to  accomplish  in  a  few  years." 

One  of  his  latest  enterprises  of  a  literary  kind,  was  the  com 
pilation  of  a  volume  of  fac-simile  "  Autograph  Leaves  of 
American  authors ;"  it  was  a  felicitous  expedient  in  aid  of 
the  Fair  held  in  Baltimore  for  the  benefit  of  the  wounded  sol 
diers  during  the  war  for  the  Union.  The  design  included  a 
characteristic  manuscript  from  all  the  leading  authors  of  the 
country,  with  their  signatures.  Assisted  by  Colonel  Alexander 
Bliss,  who  was  assiduous  in  the  work,  Mr.  Kennedy  succeeded, 
in  a  few  weeks,  in  obtaining  autograph  leaves  of  about  ninety 
native  poets  and  prose  writers,  living  and  dead.  The  volume 
is  unique,  and  is  very  scarce — the  limited  edition  having  been 
very  soon  exhausted.  The  exact  transcript,  in  lithograph,  of 
choice  selections  from  favorite  works,  in  the  handwriting  of 
the  authors,  collected  in  an  appropriately  bound  volume,  form 
a  curious  and  interesting  literary  memorial.  Its  preparation 
agreeably  renewed  Mr.  Kennedy's  association  with  his  old 
friends  among  American  authors ;  and  brought  him  into 
pleasant  relations  with  those  with  whom  he  was  previous 
ly  unacquainted.  In  the  preface  to  the  "  Autograph  Leaves," 
dated  Baltimore,  April  iQth,  1864,  he  says  :  "  It  is  not  often 
that  circumstances  concur  to  produce  a  volume  like  this. 
Nothing  less  than  the  stimulus  of  some  extraordinary  impulse 
stirring  the  heart  of  the  nation  to  a  beneficent  enterprise,  could 
enlist  the  service  of  such  a  company  as  have  contributed  to 
the  composition  of  this  book.  The  havoc  of  this  ferocious 
war,  so  madly  hurled  upon  our  peaceful  land,  has  filled  our 

12* 


27tt  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

hospitals  with  sick  and  wounded  soldiers.  Looking  to  this 
stricken  host  now  languishing  in  pain,  every  community  with 
in  the  boundary  of  the  loyal  States,  has,  with  singular  accord, 
addressed  itself  to  the  duty  of  the  day,  and  is  giving  its  thought 
and  its  means  to  the  dispensation  of  present  and  provision  of 
future  relief,  with  a  generosity  never  surpassed.  When  it  was 
suggested  to  the  authors  of  the  country  that  the  compilation 
of  a  volume  like  this  would  be  esteemed  an  acceptable  contri 
bution  to  this  charity,  the  response  was  made  with  prompt 
approval  from  every  quarter,  and  with  abundant  supply  of  the 
desired  material." 

The  Occasional  Addresses  of  Mr.  Kennedy  have  a  more 
than  incidental  value,  either  on  account  of  the  historical  interest 
of  their  subjects  or  their  felicity  of  style  and  treatment.  The 
most  noteworthy  of  these  are  : 

An  Address  before  the  Horticultural  Society  of  Maryland 
(1834);  a  Discourse  on  the  Life  and  Character  of  William 
Wirt,  delivered  at  the  request  of  the  Baltimore  Bar  (1834); 
the  Annual  Address  before  the  American  Institute,  New 
York  (1835);  Address  before  the  Faculty  of  Arts  and  Sciences 
of  the  University  of  Maryland,  after  his  appointment  as  Pro 
fessor  of  History  (1835)  ;  Address  at  the  Consecration  of 
Green  Mount  Cemetery  (1839);  Address  before  the  Maryland 
Historical  Society  on  the  Life  and  Character  of  George  Cal- 
vert  (1845);  Lecture  on  Thorn  (1846). 

To  give  a  general  idea  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  taste  in  letters, 
liberal  curiosity  as  a  reader,  and  love  of  intellectual  occupa 
tion,  we  here  insert  a  few  extracts  from  his  diary  and  corres 
pondence  illustrative  of  this  phase  of  his  life  and  mind  : 

Saturday,  December  14,  1839. — I  want  the  following  books 
from  London :  "Lord  Baltimore's  Tour  of  the  East,"  "  Browne's 
Vulgar  Errors,"  "Euphne's  Anatomic  of  Wit,"  "Euphne  and 
his  England,"  "Mintluc's  Commentaries,"  "World  in  a  Maze," 
"Pasquil  Palisnodia,"  "Taylor's  Old  Man,"  "Peacham's  Com 
plete  Gentleman,"  "Regimen  Sanitatis,"  "  Ritson's  Ancient 
Songs,"  "Ritson's  Ancient  Garlands  (Northern),"  "The  Area- 


LITERARY   OPINIONS.  %  I  £> 

dia  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,"  "The  Simple  Cobbler,"  "  Sterline's 
Recreations,"  "  Sir  John  Suckling's  Fragmenta  Aurea." 

ELLICOTT'S  MILLS,  Oct.  1, 1854. 

MY  DEAR  BRYAN  : — I  have  read  the  verses  again  and  again, 
and,  with  such  a  foretaste,  have  a  longing  hope  for  the  rest. 
I  should  like  to  know  the  poet,  for  he  is  assuredly  a  good 
fellow  as  well  as  a  rare  workman.  The  versification  is  pecu 
liarly  melodious,  and  its  music  is  that  of  a  gentle  heart  and  a 
sunny  temper.  The  tribute  is  as  graceful  as  if  it  had  come 
from  the  pen  of  Pope,  and  as  genial  as  that  of  Goldsmith. 
The  rural  pictures  have  the  flavor  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne 
— and  it  is  really  a  pleasant  thing  to  find,  in  this  day,  a  student 
with  the  capacity  and  the  taste  to  refresh  his  spirit  with  the 
waters  of  those  old  wells  of  poesy.  We  have  so  much  intensifi 
cation  of  late,  such  gushing  emotions  in  such  excruciating  words, 
such  a  distillation  of  wonderful  quintessences  in  such  incom 
prehensible  alembics  of  thought,  and  such  a  rattle  and  roar  of 
poetical  locomotives,  that  the  man  who  will  recall  the  art  back 
to  the  domain  of  common  sense,  and  restore  the  human  heart 
to  its  old  place  in  the  human  economy,  and  render  it,  once  more 
an  honest  and  intelligible  viscus,  will  be,  I  think,  entitled  to  a 
general  vote  of  thanks,  and,  if  he  get  his  deserts,  be  made 
Vice-President,  at  least,  in  the  Republic  of  letters. 

BALTIMORE,  April  18,  1851. 

MY  DEAR : — I  have  just  finished  a  reviewal  and  a  revi- 

sal  of  your  article.  I  like  it  in  the  main,  very  well.  The  ar 
gument  is  good,  and  the  execution  in  parts  very  good, — in 
parts  not  very  good. 

First,  let  me  say  to  you,  as  a  brother  author,  you  have  a  vil 
lainous  practice  of  writing  the  page  so  full  as  to  leave  one  to  in 
fer  that  it  was  the  last  page  you  expected  to  find  upon  earth. 
You  have  no  margin — no  top — no  bottom.  Is  paper  scarce  in 
this  world  that  a  man  should  deny  his  manuscript  an  inch  of 
uncovered  territory  ?  I'll  subscribe  for  a  ream,  or  send  you 


27t)  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P. 

one,  if  you  will  promise  not  to  stuff  it  from  N.  E.  corner  to  S.  W. 
so  full  of  ink  that  a  friend  can't  make  a  marginal  note.  Then 
again,  you  write  too  close.  Your  lines  should  be  more  open, — 
and,  then  again,  brother  author,  you  don't  write  plain  enough. 
You  should  write  as  if  you  were  printing,  making  every  word 
so  plain  that  the  compositor  cannot  possibly  mistake  it.  You 
should  also  particularly  remember  that  length  is  a  word  that  has 
a  g  in  it,  and  is  a  different  thing  from  lenth.  Another  thing — 
the  /'j,  which  are  a  very  respectable  letter  in  the  alphabet,  have 
not  yet  got  into  the  fashion  which  you  want  then  to  adopt,  of 
flying  their  crosses  in  the  air,  thus  77— 'tis  essentially  a  cross 
letter,  and  can't  get  rid  of  that  temper. 

I  wish  you  would  bear  in  mind,  also,  that  written  speech  is 
very  usefully  broken  into  paragraphs,  now  and  then  ;  and  that 
sentences  ought  not  to  be  written  five  miles  long  before  you 
come  to  a  period. 

So  much  for  externals  and  matters  of  shape.  As  to  the 
interior  qualities,  I  object  to  your  stopping,  in  the  midst  of  a 
grave  argument,  and  laying  down  your  pen  and  then  cutting 
a  few  somersets  on  the  carpet  and  afterwards  writing  them 
down,  as  somersets  can  be  written  in  the  hiatus  which  this 
freak  produces.  What's  the  meaning  of  "  Ha  !  old  True 
penny,  etc.  ?"  and  "  now  for  it,"  and  forty  other  Merry  An- 
drewisms  which  I  find  ?  And  what  is  the  use  of  saying,  when 
you  have  stated  an  argument,  "this  is  the  argument."  Well, 
it  is  the  argument,  whether  you  say  it  or  not,  particularly 
when  you  have  said  before,  "here  is  the  argument."  As  a  man 
of  veracity,  I  believe  you  on  the  first  assertion,  and  have  no 
doubt  that  /'/  is  the  argument. 

I  have  another  remark  to  make  in  regard  to  your  style.  It 
is  too  distressingly  intense.  What  new  caprice  has  taken  hold 
of  you  ?  You  formerly  wrote  in  a  fine,  clear,  transparent  style, 
that  was  particularly  good  ;  but  recently  you  have  so  bedevilled 
and  bemystified  and  transcendentalized  your  style  with  such 
cracking  of  heart-strings,  subjectivity  of  emotion,  and  with 
such  penetration  into  metaphysical  in  ill- stones,  and  are  in 


SMCFAL  HONORS.  277 

such  evident  tortures  from  unnatural  retention  of  great,  wal 
loping  sentimentalities,  that  require  great  walloping  words  to 
deliver  them,  that  I  sometimes  don't  know  you.  Pray  write 
like  J.  P.  K.,  and  let  Walter  Savage  Landor  and  De  Quincey  go 
their  own  gait,  without  having  you  at  their  heels." 

Washington,  July.  1852. — I  sighed  to  leave  my  library  and 
its  associations  to  come  here.  On  Saturday  last,  I  sat  there  till 
the  hour  for  parting  arrived,  and  as  I  took  my  hat  and  cane  in 
my  hand,  there  was  a  recognizable  melancholy  in  the  assumed 
cheerfulness  with  which  I  turned  to  my  dear  old  books — so 
quiet  and  so  decent  in  their  repose — and  said,  "  Good-by, 
lads  ;  I'm  going  to  leave  you.  Take  care  of  yourselves,  and 
be  as  happy  as  you  can — though  that  can't  be  much  in  my  ab 
sence — till  I  return.  We  will  have  a  bout  together  again,  olcl 
fellows.  Good-by."  I  said  this  so  jauntily  that  there  was 
not  one  of  them  that  didn't  see  I  was  acting." 

Recognition  of  his  usefulness  and  good  repute  flowed  in 
upon  him  in  honorary  memberships  and  academic  degrees  from 
his  Baccalaureate  as  graduate  of  the  College  of  Baltimore,  in 
1812  :  in  January,  1840,  he  was  elected  an  honorary  member  of 
the  Historical  Society  of  New  Mexico  ;  in  1846,  member  of  the 
Maryland  Historical  Society;  in  1853,  of  the  American  Philo 
sophical  Society  ;  in  1856,  of  the  American  Geographical  and 
Statistical  Society  ;  in  1842,  Corresponding  Member  of  the 
National  Institute  ;  in  1852,  Honorary  member  of  the  U.  S. 
Naval  Lyceum  ;  in  1859,  Corresponding  Member  of  the  His 
torical  Society  of  Iowa  ;  1858,  Corresponding  Member  of  the 
Massachusetts  Historical  Society;  1863,  Fellow  of  the  Acade 
my  of  Arts  and  Sciences ;  the  same  year  he  received  from 
Harvard  University  the  honorary  degree  of  Doctor  of  Laws  ; 
and  1866  was  appointed  U.  S.  Commissioner  to  the  Paris 
Exhibition. 


278  LIFE    OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Second  visit  to  Europe  ;  Extracts  from  Journal ;  Letters  to  Hon.  R.  0. 
Winthrop  and  Judge  Bryan. 

IN  August,  1857,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kennedy  embarked  from 
New  York  in  the  Steamer  Baltic.  Miss  Gray  had  sailed 
the  previous  May  and  awaited  their  arrival.  They  were  accom 
panied  on  this  occasion  by  another  beautiful  daughter  of  Mr. 
Pennington ;  who,  wherever  they  went,  excited  the  interest 
which  American  female  beauty  invariably  awakens  in  Europe. 
Friends  on  Staten  Island  waved  them  adieus  as  they  passed 
down  the  harbor ;  after  a  pleasant  voyage  they  landed  in 
good  health,  and  immediately  began  a  tour  through  Great 
Britain  ;  Mr.  Kennedy  only  lingered  in  Liverpool  to  attend  the 
courts,  whose  character  and  proceedings  he  notes  with  profes 
sional  insight.  They  then  proceeded  at  once  to  Edinburgh, 
and  many  pages  of  his  journal  are  devoted  to  that  picturesque 
and  historical  city,  with  its  endeared  memories  of  Burns  and 
Scott,  legal  and  medical  worthies,  and  literary  associations. 
Thence  they  went  castle-hunting,  and,  with  infinite  relish,  ex 
plored  those  of  Stirling  and  Roslyn ;  visited  the  lakes,  made 
the  usual  tour  of  the  Trosachs  ;  passed  a  few  days  in  Glas 
gow,  and  then  went  to  the  English  lakes  and  revelled  in  the 
beautiful  scenery  so  familiar  to  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  South- 
ey  and  De  Quincey  ;  this  rural  experience  was  succeeded  by 
some  delightful  weeks  fondly  bestowed  upon  the  most  celebra 
ted  old  Abbeys  and  finest  Cathedrals,  until  they  reached  Man 
chester  just  in  time  to  enjoy  the  Art  Exhibition  which,  then  and 
there,  called  together,  for  months,  so  many  lovers  of  the  beau 
tiful  and  historic.  Having  visited  several  famous  hereditary 


SECOND    VISIT    TO    EUROPE.  279 

seats  of  the  nobility,  especially  Haddon  Hall  and  Chatsworth, 
they  reached  London  all  the  more  able  to  appreciate  its  social 
privileges  from  this  previous  acquaintance  with  the  country, 
its  scenery,  traits  and  antiquities ;  on  their  way  thither  Derby, 
Rugby  and  Oxford  were  visited ;  and  upon  their  arrival,  Mr. 
Kennedy's  old  diplomatic  and  travelling  friends,  whom  he  had 
first  known  in  America  and  afterwards  corresponded  with, 
promptly  and  gladly  renewed  their  intercourse  with  him  and 
made  the  party  immediately  at  home  in  London  society ;  where 
they  were  the  recipients  of  constant  hospitality.  The  record 
of  this  experience  of  English  social  life,  and  especially  of  inter 
views  with  men  eminent  in  literature  and  science,  church  and 
state,  is  full  of  grateful  zest ;  but  it  was  on  his  later  and 
longer  sojourns  in  London  that  these  friendships  yielded  their 
most  satisfactory  fruit.  On  the  present  occasion  want  of  time 
obliged  him  to  tear  himself  from  a  round  of  charming  engage 
ments  and  hasten  to  the  Continent.  Like  all  Americans  on 
their  early  and  brief  visits  to  Paris,  Mr.  Kennedy  and  his  com 
panions  were  then  exclusively  occupied  in  sight-seeing ;  his  im 
pressions  of  the  superficial  life,  the  local  phenomena,  the  insti 
tutions  and  resources  of  the  French  capital,  are  written  with 
full  and  fresh  details ;  he  thus  described  the  routine  of  daily 
life,  its  panorama  and  its  traits,  the  theatres,  churches,  bridges, 
quays,  squares,  operas,  fites,  with  the  eye  of  an  artist  and  the 
thoughtfulness  of  a  philosopher ;  but  laments  that  he  has  nei 
ther  the  leisure  or  the  facilities  requisite  to  examine  the  interi 
or  life  and  realize  the  social,  scientific  and  professional  experi 
ence  so  significant  and  unique  ;  an  opportunity  for  which  was 
amply  afforded  him  a  few  years  later.  Meantime,  however,  he 
visited  the  south  of  France  ;  and  after  a  brief  sojourn  at  Avig 
non,  Nismes,  Cannes,  and  Antibes,  went  over  the  Cornice  road 
to  Nice  ;  and,  by  Genoa  to  Florence,  and  thence  to  Naples  and 
Rome.  This  tour  in  southern  Europe  was  full  of  interest  to' 
the  travellers,  and  very  candid  and  constant  notes  of  routes  and 
scenery,  paintings  and  relics,  churches  and  characters,  ceremo 
nies  and  encounters,  indicate  how  assiduous,  intelligent  and 


SO  LIFE    OF    JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 

sympathetic  was  Mr.  Kennedy's  observation  of  life,  nature  and 
art.  But  he  often  breaks  off,  when  giving  the  details -of  some 
work  or  scene  which  fascinates  him,  with  the  exclamation — 
"  beautiful,  beautiful  ! — but  is  it  not  all  described  in  the  Book 
of  Murray  ?"  For  the  same  reason  we  forbear  following  a  beat 
en  track  even  when  so  genially  illustrated ;  now  and  then,  how 
ever,  in  his  journal  and  correspondence,  occurs  an  inkling  of 
adventure  or  a  bit  of  description,,  so  characteristic  that  they  ap 
peal  strongly  to  the  "  pleasures  of  memory,"  and  make  indi 
vidual  and  attractive  even  the  familiar  experience  of  foreign 
travel :  and  of  these  memorials  of  his  tour,  we  cannot  forbear 
giving  a  few  examples  : 

PATTERSDALE,  ULLSWATER,  Sept.  21, 183*. 
To  HON.  R.  C.  WTNTHROP.  J 

MY  DEAR  WINTHROP  : — We  were  eleven  days  and  some 
hours  making  our  change  from  the  New  World  to  the  Old,  a 
longer  voyage  than  was  predicted  for  our  good  ship,  the  Bal 
tic.  But  she  was  got  off  from  her  repair  dock  in  a  hurry, 
which  left  much  unfinished  that  was  necessary  to  her  complete 
equipment;  and  so,  "the  more  haste  the  less  speed,"  was  de 
monstrated  in  our  experience  as  a  true  proverb.  Yet  the  voy 
age  was  sufficiently  comfortable  to  make  the  extra  day  or  two 
a  delay  not  to  be  complained  of;  for  the  weather  was  good, 
the  sea  complacent,  the  fare  excellent,  and  the  ship  a  master 
piece  of  elegant  accommodation — to  say  nothing  of  her  higher 
virtues  of  steadfastness,  fidelity,  uprightness  and  temperance, 
by  which  last  virtue,  you  will  understand  that  she  behaved  so 
berly — indulging  in  none  of  those  staggerings,  lurchings,  and 
heavings-up  which  you  are  sometimes  annoyed  with  in  fast 
ships  and  fast  men.  Mrs.  K.  rather  piques  herself  upon  the 
fact  that  she  was  only  three  days  below,  that  being  just  eight 
days  less  than  she  expected  ;  and  she  has  grown  in  conse 
quence  somewhat  conceited,  and  talks  of  a  voyage  from  Na 
ples  to  Egypt,  and  of  "fetching  a  compass"'  by  the  isle  of 
Cyprus,  by  way  of  following  St.  Paul,  which  she  has  been  do- 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  281 

ing  very  sedulously  for  the  last  twenty-five  years.  Our  first 
serious  occupation  was  to  go  to  Manchester  to  see  the  Art- 
Treasures,  as  they  say  here,  by  way  of  making  the  Treasures 
of  Art  more  conformable  to  the  Germanized  tone  of  the  man 
ners  of  the  Court.  And,  there,  such  a  show  ! — beginning  with 
Cimabue's  angels  done  up  in  gold-leaf,  and  ending  in  pewter 
medals  of  the  Exhibition,  struck  off,  fifty  in  a  minute — price, 
twopence, — and  comprehending  within  the  series,  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  of  pictures,  among  which  I  observed  your 
great  grandmother,  Godiva  ;  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  statues,  and 
about  fifty  crates  of  old  china — the  whole  valued  at  seven 
millions  sterling.  It  is  a  splendid  study,  which  one  might 
work  in  for  a  month,  and  for  which  our  five  hours  of  toilsome 
perambulation  was  but  a  wasted  labor.  Such  a  collection  was 
never  made  before  upon  the  earth,  and,  I  fancy,  never  will  be 
made  again,  as  they  say  it  has  turned  out  to  be,  as  a  pecun 
iary  speculation,  a  failure.  The  complaint  I  read  in  the  news 
papers  is,  that  the  popular  English  ecstasy  for  Art  is  not  in 
tense  enough  to  pay,  which  is  but  a  translation  of  their  per 
ception  of  the  fact  that  they  have  been  throwing  their  pearls 
before  swine.  It  is  exquisitely  rich,  and,  to  an  artist  like 
George  (tell  him  this),  is  worth  a  voyage  over  the  far-resound 
ing  sea.  We  are  going  back  there  in  a  few  days  to  spend  our 
equinoctial  storm — which  ought  to  set  in  on  Wednesday  next — 
in  the  Exhibition  rooms,  hoping,  if  the  gales  should  be  vio 
lent,  to  have  a  'smaller  number  of  persons  to  interrupt  our 
studies. 

From  Manchester  we  returned  to  Liverpool  and  went  to 
Edinburgh  to  make  a  reconnoissance  of  the  Highlands.  A 
terrible  cold  I  took  on  the  top  of  Carlisle  Castle,  listening  to 
a  rigmarole  about  Queen  Mary's  confinement  (how  often  that 
woman  was  confined!),  laid  me  up  here  for  nine  days;  after 
which  we  set  out  for  Stirling  and  succeeded  in  getting  to  the 
Trosachs,  and  after  having  rowed  the  whole  length  of 
Loch  Katrine  on  a  pleasant  morning,  crossed  to  Loch  Lo 
mond,  at  Inverness,  where  we  found  a  steamer  to  take  us  up 


232  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

the  middle,  then  down  again  to  Balloch  and  so  over  to  Stir 
ling  again, — Edinburgh,  Glasgow  and  here,  to  this  delightful 
little  inn — Gelderd's  Family  Hotel,  at  Pattersdale,  at  the  head 
of  Ullswater.  What  an  exquisite  place  it  is  !  The  weather  is 
like  our  finest  October ;  and  the  country  all  around  us  made 
of  crag  and  mountain,  "  tarn  and  fell,"  green  field  and  limpid 
brook,  and  constantly  suggesting  to  us  the  idea  that  it  has 
been  recently  swept  up,  wiped  and  polished  for  the  accommo 
dation  of  company.  Our  hotel  is  full  of  visitors,  generally 
consisting,  as  they  appear  to  me  through  our  window,  of 
groups  of  five,  exceedingly  respectable  people,  to  wit :  one  old 
gentleman  with  whitish  whiskers  and  a  new  hat ;  one  lady  with 
flowers,  of  a  certain  age  ;  two  young  ladies  with  prominent 
noses,  short  cloaks,  brown  straw  hats,  sharp  at  both  ends  and 
turned  up  at  the  sides,  giving  a  kind  of  Spanish,  pickaxey 
keenness  of  profile,  in  which  the  Spanish  element  is  consider 
ably  heightened  by  a  brown  feather  which  lies  along  the  whole 
length  of  the  pickaxe.  This  is  a  stereotype  picture  of  all  the 
travelling  families  we  meet.  The  fifth  one  in  these  parties  is 
either  a  young  fellow  with  a  tweed  sack  and  a  round-topped 
hat — or  a  flunkey  with  a  cockade — and  a  coat-tail  full  of  but 
tons.  What  a  remarkable  stock  of  propriety  and  circumspec 
tion  there  is  in  all  true  English !  I  am  not  yet  got  into  the 
region  of  my  letter,  and,  therefore,  am  as  yet,  in  respect  to  the 
people  here,  a  dumb  man, — for  you  know  these  people  never 
commit  the  indecorum  of  even  a  cheerful  glance  at  a  stranger, 
or,  indeed,  at  any  one  who  is  not  an  acquaintance.  To-mor 
row  we  go  to  Keswich,  then  to  Ambleside  and  so  southward. 
I  will  write  to  you  often  in  our  progress.  We  all  send  love, 
and  remembrance  to  our  good  friends  of  Pemberton  Square. 

Ever  yours, 

J.  P.  KENNEDY. 

San  Lorenzo,  April  8,  1858. — To  San  Lorenzo,  some  five 
or  six  miles  up  in  the  highlands,  then  to  Aqua  Pendente — a 
dirty  town  full  of  beggars.  Here  travellers  generally  stop  for 


SECOND    VISIT    TO    EUKOPE.  283 

lunch,  but  we  drive  on  five  miles  further  to  a  miserable  little 
inn  called  Parte  Centini,  where  the  Custom  House  of  the 
Papal  Frontier  is  established.  We  have  sliced  ham,  cured 
with  garlic,  which  makes  it  so  repulsive  we  cannot  eat  it,  but 
a  tolerable  quarter  of  lamb  helps  out.  We  take  two  additional 
horses,  which  we  have  done  twice  before  to-day,  and  drive  up 
along  a  tortuous,  exceedingly  steep  road  to  an  immense  height. 
It  grows  cold  and  blustering,  with  wintry  winds,  as  we  rise,  to 
Radicofaui,  a  moss-grown  old  town  beneath  a  high  rock,  which 
is  crowned  with  the  ruins  of  a  castle  once  famous  as  the 
fortress  of  a  "great  robber  who  spoiled  the  unlucky  travellers 
of  the  mountain.  The  road  on  both  sides  has  yet  a  strange 
repute  for  its  dangers  from  banditti.  Our  hotel  is  outside 
of  the  town,  and  somewhat  below  it, — an  immense,  old,  dark, 
damp,  and  awful  building,  which  was  once  the  hunting-lodge 
of  some  grand  Duke  of  Tuscany.  The  winds  roar  and  howl 
and  whistle  around  and  through  it,  with  the  noise  of  the  ocean. 
There  are  a  few  military  men  lounging  on  the  pavement  un 
der  the  arcades,  and  several  coaches  standing  under  this  same 
corner,  show  that  the  house  is  abounding  in  custom  to-night. 
What  dismal,  dark  stone  steps  we  go  up  to  the  story  of  our 
chamber !  and  there  the  broad,  square,  lofty,  brick-paved  hall 
or  common  ante-chamber,  opens  to  our  several  bed-rooms,  in 
one  of  which  we  find  a  fire  already  burning  and  a  table  set,  to 
be  used  by  us  for  a  parlor.  We  have  a  pretty  fair  meal,  half  din 
ner,  half  supper.  I  go  to  my  cold,  dark  bed-room,  well  tired, 
and  am  soon  asleep. 

Florence,  April  14,  1858. — I  find  something  curious  in 
the  Piazza  Grand  Duca  where  a  large  crowd  is  assembled 
around  a  mountebank  who  is  kept  as  busy  as  possible  draw 
ing  teeth.  He  has  a  carriage  with  a  good  pair  of  horses  har 
nessed  to  it  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  square.  The  car 
riage  is  furnished  with  compartments  of  physics,  and  a  large 
case  of  dental  instruments,  which  are  displayed  on  the  top. 
There  is  a  servant  in  livery  within  the  carriage,  and  a  negro 
in  a  small  cart  close  to  the  operator.  The  negro  is  gorgeously 


284:  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

ly  dressed  in  a  scarlet  jacket  richly  embroidered  with  gold,  and 
a  cap  of  the  same  character.  It  seems  to  be  his  business 
to  hold  the  basin  and  napkin.  The  dentist  has  a  fanciful  vel 
vet  cap  on  his  head, — the  rest  of  his  dress  being  of  the  pre 
vailing  fashion.  There  are  several  crowding  around  the  car 
riage  and  a  constant  succession  of  applicants  for  the  extrac 
tion  of  their  teeth,  who  are  despatched  with  an  expedition  al 
most  incredible.  Henry,  my  courier,  who  is  with  me,  tells  me 
that  one  man  has  had  eight  of  his  taken  out,  and  that  during  the 
short  period  of  our  delay  in  this  vicinity  the  dentist  has  operated 
twenty-seven  times.  I  happened  to  encounter  this  crowd  on 
my  drive  to  Fe.nzi  &  Co.,  the  bankers,  whose  house  is  on  this 
piazza, — passing  by  the  professor  slowly,  to  see  him  at  work, 
and  stoping  at  the  bankers'  about  half  an  hour.  It  was  in 
this  interval  Henry  amused  himself  with  counting  the  patients 
o:  the  dentist.  I  stop  again  among  the  crowd  on  my  return. 
The  hero  of  the  scene  was  delivering  a  valuable  lecture,  which 
I  suppose  is  a  commendation  of  his  skill  and  beneficence, 
with  much  gesticulation,  and  with  the  flowing  speech  of  this 
sweet  Italian  tongue. 

Turin,  May  9,  1858. — The  ladies  were  shown  into  the  La 
dies'  Gallery,  I  got  admission  to  the  Diplomatic  box  upon  mak 
ing  known  to  the  Secretary  of  the  Chamber  my  former  connec 
tion  with  our  own  government.  A  member  was  addressing  the 
House  in  French,  and  was  followed  by  another  also  in  the  same 
language.  I  was  told  they  were  members  from  some  district 
in  Savoy,  and  that  the  House  debated  in  French  as  well  as  in 
Italian.  The  proceedings  were  decorous  and  quiet.  The  first 
speech  was  long,  on  some  local  business ;  and  the  members 
generally  read  their  newspapers  and  letters  and  appeared  to 
give  as  little  attention  to  the  speaker,  as  if  it  had  been  our  own 
House  of  Representatives.  Count  Cavour,  with  one  of  his  col 
leagues  in  the  ministry,  sat  at  a  table  in  front  of  the  President, 
— the  ministerial  seats.  He  is  a  stout,  tall  man,  wearing  his 
age,  which  I  should  take  to  be  fifty-five,  well,  with  a  pleasant 
eye  and  an  agreeable,  good-humored  face,  showing  little  weight 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  EUEOPE.  285 

of  care,  and  not  indicating  the  thoughtful  ness  and  study  for 
which  I  knew  him  to  be  distinguished.  The  chamber  of  Dep 
uties  as  well  as  Senate  Chamber  is  small.  The  Senators  are 
between  40  and  50  in  number.  The  House  has  204  members. 
They  are  rather  crowded  together  in  something  like  pews  rising 
above  each  other  in  a  semi-circle,  and  with  a  desk  and  drawer 
before  each  member.  The  general  aspect  of  these  Houses  re 
minded  me  of  the  Legislature  Chambers  at  Harrisburg,  in  Penn 
sylvania. 

Lago  Maggiore,  May  n,  1858. — We  come  to  Luino,  on  the 
Lombardy  side  of  the  lake,  where  we  land  once  more  in  the 
Austrian  dominions.  There  is  a  party  of  English  tourists  with 
us.  They  take  a  carnage  from  one  of  the  several  waiting  on 
the  shore.  We  engage  the  coupe  zcn&banquette  of  the  diligence, 
and,  after  the  usual  ceremony  of  the  passport  and  the  dogana, 
we  set  off  for  Lucerne.  I  am  on  the  top  of  the  diligence — the 
banquet — with  Henry  and  William,  the  ladies  are  in  the  coupe. 
What  a  delightful  ride  of  three  hours — from  four  to  seven, 
through  that  splendid  piece  of  country !  What  mountain  scenes, 
and  what  a  beautiful  river — the  Strev !  I  have  never  seen  any 
thing  more  stimulating  to  the  fancy  than  this  afternoon  drive. 
At  a  village, — I  think  the  village  of  Stresa, — we  come  to  a  series 
of  low  arches  under  the  houses  which  overarch  the  road.  They 
are  so  low  that  we  are  obliged  to  get  down  from  the  top,  and 
even  the  trunks  there  have  to  be  taken  down,  to  allow  the  dil 
igence  to  pass.  In  walking  through  the  village  we  see  troops 
of  children,  with  caprecin  shoes,  that  is,  a  mere  wooden  sole 
with  straps, — who  run  after  us  in  an  excited  state  of  wonder 
and  amusement  at  seeing  William, — the  uomo  nero,  as  they 
shout. 

On  the  road  to  Padua,  May  14,  1858. — At  the  railway  sta 
tion  we  meet  our  German  travellers  again,  and  are  put  into  the 
same  carriage  with  them.  We  are  not  long  in  making  an  ac 
quaintance,  and  find  them  to  be  very  intelligent,  pleasant  peo 
ple.  Upon  an  exchange  of  cards,  I  am  apprised  that  the  gen 
tleman  is  le  Baron  de  Holsten  Carisius  j  that  the  younger 


2 SO  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

of  the  two  ladies  is  his  daughter,  la  Baronne  Emilie  de  Hol- 
sten  Carisius,  chanoinesse  de  la  Chapitre  Royale  de  Vallo, — 
the  other,  the  old  gentleman's  niece,  with  the  same  name  and 
title  except  that  the  addition  is  Stampe,  instead  of  Carisius. 
They  are  Danes,  and  live  on  an  island  in  The  Belt  The  fa 
ther  tells  me  he  was  a  Secretary  of  Legation  once  in  Sweden, 
and  there  became  well  acquainted  with  Christopher  Hughes,  and 
knew  his  daughter  Margaret  when  she  was  quite  a  child.  He 
was  quite  surprised  when  I  told  him  how  well  I  knew  Hughes, 
and  that  Margaret  was  my  brother's  wife. 

Padua,  May  15,  1858. — We  come  to  St.  Antonio.  This 
church  is  exceedingly  rich  in  objects  of  interest.  St.  Antonio 
is  the  patron  of  Padua,  and  the  people  here  render  him  a  pecu 
liarly  zealous  worship.  His  chapel  is  most  sumptuous.  We 
find  one  or  two  hundred  persons  on  their  knees  before  it.  The 
marble  of  the  altar  under  which  the  saint  is  buried,  is  rough  with 
the  constant  attrition  of  fingers — the  people  are  touching  it, 
the  guide  says,  from  daylight  until  dark.  Here  in  this  chapel, 
are  beautiful  bas-reliefs  in  marble,  of  the  same  subjects  and  pret 
ty  much  the  same  design  as  the  frescoes  in  the  senola.  In  one 
of  them  Saint  Anthony  appears  to  be  something  of  a  wag.  He 
is  represented  cutting  open  the  body  of  an  old  miser  who 
had  died  in  Florence,  to  prove  that  he  had  no  heart.  The  sur 
gical  operation  establishes  the  fact  that  the  heart  was  missing, 
and  upon  examination  it  is  found  in  his  money-chest,  which 
stands  open  near  the  body. 

Trieste,  May  21,  1858. — A  beautiful,  fresh  morning.  Up 
before  four,  as  we  are  to  leave  the  hotel  soon  after  five  to  take 
the  railway  to  Gratz  before  six.  At  the  appointed  hour,  having 
breakfasted  and  come  to  the  station,  we  are  off  in  the  train  at 
5.45,  and  are  soon  among  the  hills  that  form  the  attraction 
of  one  of  the  most  beautiful  countries  in  Europe.  We  are  in 
the  slow  train, — the  only  one  that  goes  off  in  the  morning.  The 
express  leaves  at  eleven  at  night,  and  it  is  to  avoid  a  weari 
some  night  journey,  as  well  as  to  enjoy  the  varied  beauties  of 
this  exquisite  scenery,  that  we  have  taken  the  day  train,  to  get 


SECOND    VISIT    TO    EUROPE.  28  Y 

out  at  Gratz.,  and  to  make  the  remainder  of  our  journey  to-mor 
row  to  Vienna  by  the  express,  which  reaches  Gratz  at  ten  in  the 
morning.  We  are  running  through  a  limestone  region,  which,  in 
many  places,  has  a  most  remarkable  resemblance  to  the  valley 
of  Virginia, — nothing  being  wanting  to  complete  the  likeness 
but  the  dense  forests  of  our  mountains.  The  little  town  of 
Divaca  and  its  adjacent  rugged  limestone  hills,  was  so  much 
like  Martinsburg,  in  Berkeley,  as  to  make  us  almost  think  we 
were  at  home.  Like  that  region,  the  fields  here  are  full  of 
those  sinks  or  conical  funnel-like  indentations,  that  are  seen 
in  the  Virginia  valley ;  and  the  country  here  also  abounds  in 
caves,  some  of  which, — one  especially  at  Adelsberg — are  very 
extensive.  This  character  of  country  extends  to  and  beyond 
Adelsberg,  which  is  famous  in  the  tourists'  books,  for  its  great 
grotto  or  cave,  which  has  been  explored  for  more  than  four 
miles.  The  descriptions  of  it  answer  precisely  to  those  of 
Weir's  Cave, — though  it  is  more  extensive  than  that. 

Gratz,  Styria,  May  22,  1858. — We  drive  through  the  prin 
cipal  streets  between  rows  of  very  large,  fine  houses  ;  then  to 
the  boulevards  or  public  drives  outside  of  the  walls,  and  back 
through  some  of  the  narrower  and  more  crowded  parts.  There 
is  a  large  collection  of  market  people  with  their  wares  in  the 
public  squares ;  the  milk,  butter  and  cheese  appear  to  be  deli 
cious  and  abundant.  The  cleanliness  of  every  thing  is  very 
striking.  These  are  a  good,  honest  people,  and  seem  to  live 
in  a  country  of  inexhaustible  richness.  We  see  no  beggars. 
Indeed  we  have  seen  none  in  the  north  of  Italy,  and  especially 
in  these  Austrian  dominions.  I  have  never  seen  a  country 
which  exhibits  a  more  general  appearance  of  comfort  and  good 
condition  than  this.  Before  our.  drive  this  morning,  while 
smoking  my  segar,  I  strolled  into  the  great  court-yard  of  the 
hotel,  attracted  first  by  a  huge  painting  on  the  wall,  of  an  ele 
phant  as  large  as  life,  and  very  well  done.  There  was  a  rhym 
ing  legend  under  it  in  German,  purporting  that  it  was  put  there 
in  1618  (I  think; — it  was  a  long  time  ago,  I  know),  and  that 
there  was  good  cheer  to  be  found  in  the  house.  The  trunk 


288  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

holds  a  bottle  of  wine,  which  the  veteran  patron  of  the  house 
is  emptying  into  his  mouth.  In  this  court-yard  my  attention 
was  taken  by  the  building  of  a  large  house, — an  addition  to 
the  inn, — at  which  no  less  than  fifty  men  and  women  were  en 
gaged  ;  the  men  laying  the  bricks  and  stone,  and  the  women 
carrying  the  materials  and  mixing  the  mortar.  It  was  very 
rapid  and  solid  work.  While  looking  on  at  this,  amused  by 
the  activity  of  the  scene,  I  found  that,  unobserved  by  me,  two 
of  the  masons  had  drawn  their  white  chalked  cord  in  the 
manner  of  a  fence  behind  me,  and  each  facing  me,  one  fell  to 
repeating  some  verses  in  German,  in  very  measured  cadence, 
addressed  to  me.  All  the  working  people  on  the  building, 
and  the  other  by-standers  in  the  yard,  were  in  a  state  of  great 
enjoyment  at  the  ceremony,  and  indulged  in  a  general  laugh. 
I  waited  till  the  recitation  was  finished,  and  guessing  its  import 
to  be  that  I  was  under  the  penalty  of  a  tri?ikgeld,  I  emptied  my 
pockets  of  all  my  small  money  and  put  it  in  their  hands.  I 
had  hit  the  intent  of  the  visit,  and  I  was  released  with  abun 
dant  thanks  and  with  manifestations  of  the  general  satisfaction. 

Dresden  Gallery,  June  4,  1858. — Take  the  collection  alto 
gether,  and  considering  it  with  reference  to  the  number  of  its 
works, — their  great  merit,  their  fine  arrangement  for  exhibition, 
and  the  neatness  and  beauty  of  the  rooms,  as  well  as  the  ad 
mirable  order  and  courteous  attention  with  which  the  whole  is 
offered  to  the  public  examination,  we  have  some  difficulty  in 
assigning  it  a  rank  second  to  any  other. 

Berlin,  June  8,  1858. — I  go  to  make  a.  visit  to  Baron  Alex 
ander  Von  Humboldt,  who  resides  on  the  Bamberg  Strasse. 
After  a  hot  walk,  with  Henry  as  a  guide,  I  come  to  the  house. 
Here,  with  some  hesitation,  the  porter  tells  me  he  thinks  the 
Baron  is  not  at  home.  He  had  gone  up  stairs  to  inquire,  and 
returned  with  this  answer.  I  then  give  him  my  card,  upon 
which  I  have  written  a  few  words  to  say  that  I  have  called  to 
make  my  respects,  and  desire  him  to  return  with  that.  The 
result  is,  after  a  few  moments,  that  I  am  invited  up  to  the  Bar 
on's  study.  Having  taken  my  seat  upon  a  sofa  while  the  ser- 


SECOND    VISIT   TO    EUKOPE.  289 

vant  goes  into  an  inner  room, — in  a  moment  after  the  old 
philosopher  comes  in,  giving  me  as  he  enters,  a  most  kind 
welcome  pronounced  in  good  clear  English,  and  with  a  cheer 
ful,  pleasant,  though  somewhat  attenuated  voice.  He  tells 
me  that  it  was  a  mistake  that  he  had  denied  himself  when 
asked  if  he  was  at  home,  and  that  having  seen  my  card,  he 
was  very  happy  to  have  my  visit.  He  said  he  remembered  very 
well  the  little  correspondence  I  had  with  him  when  I  was  Sec 
retary  of  the  Navy ;  asked  me  several  questions  about  our 
political  affairs ;  indulged  in  some  critical  opinions  in  regard 
to  some  of  our  public  men,  of  whom  he  spoke  freely  ;  deplored 
our  distractions  on  the  subject  of  slavery; — saying  that  it  was 
to  be  regretted  that  we  had  made  its  defence,  as  a  domestic 
institution,  so  important  a  consideration  ;  that  we  had,  in  tak 
ing  this  position,  abandoned  entirely  the  views  of  Mr.  Jeffer 
son  and  the  other  distinguished  statesmen  of  our  earlier  days. 
He  spoke  with  regret  of  the  loss  of  Dr.  Kane  to  our  country 
and  to  science,  and  told  me  with  what  pleasure  he  had  read 
his  book.  I  sit  with  him  about  half  an  hour,  when  he  begs 
me  to  excuse  him  for  breaking  off  our  interview,  as  he  is 
obliged  to  go  to  Potsdam,  which,  I  learn,  he  does  every  day 
at  two,  to  visit  the  king.  He  shakes  my  hand  very  cordially, 
•  assures  me  again  of  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  my  visit,  and  I  take 
my  leave.  He  told  me  he  was  now  eighty-seven  years  old,  but 
still  enjoyed  his  faculties,  as  I  might  suppose,  when  he  could 
still  work  and  was  now  publishing  a  book.  He  added,  that 
although  he  was  able  to  do  this  his  health  was  not  good.  He 
is  well  delineated  in  the  engraving  I  have  of  him  at  home. 
There  is  a  cheerful  twinkle  of  the  eye,  and  great  complacency 
and  gentleness  in  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  as  well 
as  in  his  gesture  and  carriage.  I  should  take  him  to  have  been 
a  well  built,  though  not  robust  man  in  the  prime  of  his  life,  and 
perhaps  less  than  six  feet  high.  He  is  now  a  good  deal  bent, 
and  his  walk  is  slow,  though  firm  for  one  of  his  age.  His  com 
plexion  is  fair,  slightly  tinged  with  a  pale  red,  and  his  eye,  I 
think  (for  I  could  not  well  observe  it  in  the  position  he  had) 
13 


290  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

is  blue.  In  the  course  of  our  conversation  he  spoke  with  kind 
consideration  of  Mr.  Fay,  who  had  been  resident  here  for  some 
years,  as  the  American  Minister. 

Amsterdam,  Brock,  June  15,  1808. — The  village  of  Brock 
is  the  oddest  thing  I  have  ever  seen, — quite  as  outlandish  to 
my  view  as  if  it  were  a  Chinese  settlement.  It  lies  round  a 
basin  of  the  canal,  and  is  permeated  by  small  alleys  shaded 
with  trees  and  shrubberies,  giving  it  the  most  delightfully  rural 
aspect.  It  is  also  intersected  with  a  dozen  little,  narrow  ca 
nals,  not  wide  enough  for  more  than  one  boat  at  a  time.  The 
houses  are  beautifully  arranged,  and  kept  with  a  neatness  for 
which  Holland  is  proverbial,  but  which  cannot  be  understood 
unless  it  is  seen.  These  houses  are  all  wood,  generally  paint 
ed  of  a  deep  green.  They  are  all  embowered  ki  shade,  and 
appear  singularly  pretty.  The  business  of  the  place  is  cheese- 
making,  upon  which  many  of  its  chief  people  have  grown  com 
fortable,  and  several  quite  rich.  It  is  very  striking  to  observe 
the  beauty  of  these  Dutch  women.  The  masses  are.  all  good- 
looking,  and  many  are  very  pretty.  I  have  not  seen  an  ugly 
woman  yet  since  we  entered  this  territory,  and  everywhere,  in 
every  rank  of  life,  we  notice  beautiful  women  and  girls. 

Paris,  June  26, 1858. — These  Parisian  tailors  are  the  worst  I 
find  anywhere.  There  is  a  great  parade  about  fitting  you,  al 
ways  insisting  upon  trying  on  clothes,  and,  if  possible,  doing 
this  before  they  are  finished,  and  it  is  generally  the  same  thing 
— a  miss  in  something.  "Ah,  monsieur,  quil  est  fachera.  C'est 
un  erreur  de  mesure."  I  had  a  great  deal  of  this  this  morning, 
as  the  theatrical  journeyman  was  tugging  and  squeezing  to  make 
the  button-holes  meet  the  buttons  in  front.  Of  course  he  couldn't 
insist  on  my  reducing  my  proportions,  so  he  takes  the  panta 
loons  away  with  a  promise  to  make  me  another  pair  by  Mon 
day  evening.  "  Quel  dommage,"  he  says,  as  he  takes  them  up 
with  a  look  of  disconsolate  tenderness.  "Us  sont  si  jolis  !" 

London,  July  16,  1858. — (Cambridge  House  Dinner). — I 
find  myself  left  with  Lord  Woodhouse  and  a  very  handsome 
man  who  has  been  conversing  familiarly  with  me,  who  I  think 


SECOND    VISIT    TO    EUROPE. 

I  have  seen  somewhere  before,  and  therefore,  with  my  usual 
inexactness  of  conjecture,  I  suppose  may  be  Sir  George  C. 
Lewis.  We  go  together  to  our  end  of  the  table.  Lady  P. 
gives  Lord  W.  a  seat  between  two  ladies,  and  directs  me  to 
sit  between  Mrs.  Dallas  and  the  handsome  man  whom  I 
have  followed.  We  have  a  beautiful  table,  richly  lighted  and 
decorated,  and  dinner  begins  very  pleasantly.  My  unknown 
friend  talks  to  me  about  America,  the  Mormon  affair—  Cuba — 
our  Federal  and  State  Governments — the  Foreign  and  Catholic 
influence  in  America.  He  is  full  of  inquiry,  intelligent  and 
courteous.  He  is  anxious  to  know  every  thing  about  the  slave 
population,  etc.  I  tell  him  many  things  that  interest  him,  and 
especially  in  relation  to  the  Cuban  slave-trade  which  makes  so 
much  noise  just  now.  I  assure  him  that  if  England  wishes  to 
stop  the  importation  of  negroes  to  that  Island,  the  most  cer 
tain  mode  of  rendering  the  importation  impossible  would  be 
the  annexation  of  Cuba  to  the  United  States ;  that  a  great 
misapprehension  exists  here  in  reference  to  the  introduction  of 
African  slaves  into  the  United  States,  in  supposing  such  a  thing 
had  ever  occurred,  or  that  the  Government  could  be  accused 
justly,  of  the  slightest  complicity  in  it.  I  said  that  the  whole 
country,  north  and  south,  equally  revolted  at  such  an  accusa 
tion  ;  that' the  interests  of  the  South,  no  less  than  the  tradi 
tional  sentiment  and  sensibility  of  Southern  planters  them 
selves,  were  opposed  to  it ;  that  in  the  excited  state  of  the 
public  mind  on  the  slave  question,  and  the  preponderance  of 
free  States  in  the  Union,  and  still  more,  the  preponderance  of 
opinion  even  in  the  Slave  States  against  such  a  traffic,  no 
American  Statesman  of  any  ambition  or  influence  would  dare 
to  confront  the  odium  that  would  be  heaped  upon  him,  if  he 
laid  himself  open  to  the  suspicion  of  favoring  such  a  thing. 
These  remarks  seemed  to  make  an  impression  upon  my  ques 
tioner.  He  was  glad  to  hear  this.  He  thought  African 
slaves  had  been  introduced  into  the  United  States,  and  was 
glad  to  learn  that  it  was  not  true.  He  was  very  liberal  and 
frank  in  discoursing  on  the  subject,  and  had  no  doubt  that  the 


292  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

truth  regarding  the  condition  of  the  slaves  and  their  owners, 
and  the  many  tales  told  of  the  general  griefs  of  the  slave  pop 
ulation,  had  been  greatly  discolored  and  exaggerated.  I  ex 
plained  to  him  what  I  thought  was  the  more  sober  and  enlight 
ened  opinion  in  the  United  States  in  regard  to  the  annexation 
of  Cuba,  and  referred  him  for  this  to  Mr.  Everett's  letter  to 
Lord  John  Russell  in  1852-3,  which  I  told  him  went  to  the  ut 
most  verge  of  the  conservative  opinion  of  the  country.  I  said 
the  annexation  was  not  desirable  at  this  time,  because  it  would 
renew  all  the  excitements  of  the  slave  agitation ;  that  the  Free 
States,  which  had  now  a  majority  in  Congress,  would  most  prob 
ably  refuse  to  allow  it  to  be  brought  into  the  Union  with  slavery, 
and  the  South  would  oppose  it  without ;  and  that,  in  any  case, 
it  was  desirable  to  us  that  it  should  be  more  Americanized, — 
that  is  to  say,  should  have  a  large  Anglo-Saxon  population 
thrown  into  it,  before  it  should  be  allowed  to  participate  in 
our  political  organization.  Talking  farther  on  this  subject  of 
slavery,  I  presented  to  him  the  idea  that  it  was  scarcely  possi 
ble  for  the  most  philosophic  or  the  most  intelligent  European 
statesman  to  comprehend  very  accurately  the  difficulties  of  the 
problem  of  the  extinction  of  slavery  in  the  United  States,  where 
the  slaves  already  numbered  more  than  three  millions ;  that 
it  was  not  altogether  the  fault  of  the  United  States  that  this 
large  number  of  slaves  existed  among  us  ;  that  at  the  date 
of  our  Revolution  the-  conduct  of  England,  in  planting  slavery 
among  us,  was  one  of  the  grounds  of  complaint  against  the 
Crown  ;  that  Virginia  herself  had  furnished  no  less  than  twen 
ty  remonstrances  to  the  Crown  against  the  injustice  of  vetoing 
her  Legislature  to  prevent  slavery,  and  had  foretold  the  conse 
quences  of  this  policy  with  remarkable  sagacity,  as  is  manifest 
ed  at  this  time, — informing  the  Crown  that  the  authority  of 
England  was  employed  to  plant  slaves  in  the  Colony,  and  thus, 
not  only  to  prevent  the  emigration  of  white  labor  to  it,  but  to 
inflict  upon  the  posterity  of  the  memorialists  a  great  and  al 
most  ineradicable  evil,  in  the  growth  of  a  large  slave  popula 
tion.  He  acquiesced  in  all  these  views,  acknowledged  the  jus- 


SECOND   VISIT   TO    EUROPE.  293 

tice  of  my  remarks,  and  said  these  facts  undoubtedly  showed 
the  wickedness  of  the  English  policy  and  certainly  deprived 
Englishmen  of  the  right  to  censure  Americans  for  slavery.  I 
said, ."  I  believe  I  am  right  in  asserting  that  England  is  the 
only  nation  in  Christendom  that  ever  made  a  treaty  to  secure 
to  herself  the  emoluments  of  the  slave-trade  ;  that  she  had 
done  it  over  and  over  again,  under  the  protest  of  some  of  her 
wisest  and  best  statesmen."  He  replied,  "  I  believe  that  is 
true."  When  we  had  nearly  finished  this  conversation,  I  turned 
to  Mrs.  Dallas,  on  my  left,  and  asked  her  who  was  the  gentle 
man  with  whom  I  was  conversing.  She  informed  me  he  was 
the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  and  that  the  beautiful  woman  oppo 
site  was  his  wife. 

London,  July  20,  1858. — I  go  to  Fenton's  to  meet  Donnell, 
and  he  and  I  walk,  between  nine  and  ten,  to  Judge  Nicholson's 
Court,  at  the  Cider  Cellar,  a  public  house  in  Maiden  Lane. 
Here  we  find  a  man  standing  at  the  door  wearing  a  square  pa 
per  lantern  on  his  head,  on  the  four  sides  of  which  are  adver 
tisements,  relating  to  the  various  courses  of  amusement  for  the 
evening.  We  enter  the  door  and  descend  into  the  cellar  by  a 
•good  staircase,  at  the  foot  of  which  a  woman  stands  in  a  kind 
of  shed  to  receive  our  admission  fees,  one  shilling  each,  and  to 
give  us  our  tickets.  We  go  along  a  narrow  passage,  and  soon 
find  ourselves  at  the  door  of  a  large  saloon.  This  room  is  lofty 
in  the  ceiling,  is  hung  around  with  several  large  and  small  por 
traits,  and  has  quite  a  respectable  and  even  stately  aspect.  At 
the  head  of  the  room  is  a  kind  of  a  pulpit-desk  of  mahogany, 
behind  which  a  large,  fat  man,  with  an  exceedingly  large  head, 
a  full,  round  and  fat  face,  and  an  expressive  physiognomy,  is 
seated,  clothed  in  the  wig  and  gown  of  the  courts.  Near  him, 
at  a  table,  sit  three  barristers,  in  their  gowns  and  wigs  ;  and  con 
nected  with  this  part  of  the  room  is  a  witness'  stand,  elevated 
some  foot  or  more  above  the  platform.  There  are  tables  and 
chairs  arranged  in  order  in  the  rest  of  the  hall ;  one  of  these 
tables  nearest  to  the  judge  and  counsel,  has  twelve  chairs,  which 
are,  as  all  the  other  seats  in  the  room,  filled  by  well-dressed 


294:  LIFE   OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

men, — chiefly  young  men, — who  have  goblets  of  ale  before  them, 
and  are,  for  the  most  part,  smoking  segars.  Waiters  are  pass 
ing  to  and  fro,  industriously  serving  this  company.  Donnell 
and  I  advance  to  the  upper  part  of  the  hall  nearest  the  judge, 
take  seats  at  one  of  the  tables,  and  order  our  segars  and  ale 
like  the  rest  At  the  time  of  our  entrance,  one  of  the  counsel, 
a  good-looking  man  in  the  costume  I  have  described,  is  address 
ing  the  jury.  We  soon  discover  that  the  proceeding  now  on 
hand  is  an  indictment  of  four  women  as  common  prostitutes. 
The  counsel  informs  the  jury  that  this  indictment  has  been  ob 
tained  not  so  much  with  a  view  to  punish  the  offenders,  as  to 
bring  to  light  the  facts  relating  to  the  lives  and  characters  of 
the  class  to  which  these  women  belong,  and  to  obtain  an  ex 
pression  of  opinion  upon  the  subject  from  the  public,  with  a 
view  to  a  question  of  legislation  by  Parliament  for  the  reform 
ation  of  the  public  morals  and  the  amelioration  of  the  condi 
tion  of  these  women.  His  speech  has  nothing  comic  in  it,  but 
is  grave,  rhetorical  and  eloquent, — the  questions  well  argued 
and  illustrated.  When  he  is  done  speaking,  which  is  not  much 
less  than  an  hour,  he  calls  his  first  witness,  Sir  Crotchet  Dan 
dy.  This  call  is  made  by  the  usher  of  the  court,  who  is  also 
in  his  appropriate  costume,  and  presently  a  stiff,  formal,  well- 
dressed  old  gentleman,  with  a  white  head,  comes  into  court,  and 
is  conducted  to  the  witness'  stand,  where  he  is  sworn  in  the  usual 
style  of  the  courts,  with  the  omission,  however,  of  the  last  words, 
and  kisses  the  book.  The  judge  inquires  his  name,  and  the 
examination  proceeds.  Here  the  amusement  becomes  very 
high.  The  witness  is  testy,  the  questions  and  answers  full  of 
fun, — very  broad  sometimes,  but  exceedingly  witty.  The  judge 
now  begins  to  show  his  character.  He  is  playing  a  part  repre 
senting  the  peculiarities  of  some  notability  of  the  Bench.  His 
imitation  is  manifestly  very  good,  for  it  is  natural,  easy,  and  sus 
tained  with  great  power  and  skill.  His  eyes,  which  have  here 
tofore  been  half  shut,  now  twinkle  with  the  most  arch  and  laugh- 
inspiring  expression.  His  remarks  are  full  of  excellent  wit. 
But  he  is  short  and  reserved,  making  his  hit  in  a  few  words, 


SECOND    VISIT    TO    EUROPE.  295 

and  retreating  into  the  dignity  of  his  office.  Sir  Crotchet 
makes  out  a  queer  case  of  profligate  experiences,  not  at  all  fit 
to  be  reported.  The  next  witness  is  an  old  bawd,  in  whose  fea 
tures  I  recognize  the  man  who  had  formed  the  third  barrister 
at  the  table  when  we  came  in.  This  exhibition,  too,  is  irresist 
ibly  comic,  and  the  part  played  to  perfection.  We  have  all 
the  slang  of  the  streets,  and  the  most  extraordinary  experiences 
of  the  horrible  ingenuity  of  this  wretched  portion  of  the  Lon 
don  community,  to  cajole,  debase,  and  ruin  the  victims  of  their 
trade.  She  is  a  driver  in  the  employ  of  the  matrons  of  prosti 
tution,  and  follows  the  young  women  who  are  dressed  at  the 
expense  of  the  matrons,  to  see  that  they  do  not  steal  or  dispose 
of  the  finery  that  is  put  upon  them  for  the  streets.  It  is  really 
a  fine  piece  of  illustration  of  this  shocking  life,  both  in  the  con 
ception  and  performance  of  the  part.  The  counsel  for  the 
prosecution  now  announces  that  he  has  no  more  testimony  to 
offer.  Then  comes  the  shrewd  and  critical  and  amusing  cross- 
examination,  and  the  witness  is  dismissed.  The  counsel  for 
defence  now  opens  his  case,  and  makes  a  speech  of  nearly  half 
an  hour, — the  best  exposition  of  the  whole  character,  cause  and 
extent  of  this  great  malady  of  London  life,  I  have  ever  listened 
to  or  read.  It  is  an  admirable  speech,  done  in  the  best  manner, 
full  of  thought,  sound  reflection,  excellent  composition  and  el 
oquent  expression.  Then  a  witness  is  examined, — a  cunning, 
hypocritical  old  woman,  who,  with  the  affectation  of  humanity 
and  charity,  proves  herself,  upon  cross-examination,  to  be  a  de 
testable,  artful  old  pawnbroker,  who  has  fattened  upon  the  ne- . 
cessities  of  the  unfortunate  women,  of  whom  she  professes  to 
be  the  friend.  After  this  comes  the  Chief-Justice's  charge  to 
the  jury, — pointed,  witty,  clear,  and  ingenious.  Nothing  could 
be  better  than  his  review  of  the  evidence,  and  the  fun  with 
which  he  interpreted  the  slang  and  cant  of  the  witnesses.  He 
puts  the  several  points  to  be  decided  by  the  jury,  asking  a  show 
of  hands  upon  each  proposition,  and  finally  pronounces  the 
verdict  of  the  company  as  thus  obtained  ; — and  so  discharges 
the  jury,  with  an  announcement  that  those  who  desire  to  sup, 


2iH>  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KF.NNEDY. 

may  now  give  their  orders,  and  that  after  supper  the  other  pro 
ceedings  of  the  evening  will  be  taken  up.  It  is  about  12  o'clock. 
There  arises  throughout  the  atmosphere  of  the  room,  a  strong 
and  piquant  odor  of  beef-steak  and  onions.  Donnell  and  I 
retire.  At  the  door  where  we  emerge  upon  the  street,  the  man 
with  the  paper  lantern  cap  is  still  standing,  and  I  read  on  it, 
"  The  Poses  Plastiques"  will  now  be  exhibited. 

Across  the  Channel — Brighton  to  Dublin,  July  30, 1858. — Up 
at  half-past  seven.  Breakfast  before  nine,  at  9.15  I  am  off  for 
Dublin.  There  is  an  Irish  lady  in  the  carnage, — and  a  gentle 
man  with  his  daughter,— we  make  a  party  all  the  way  to  Dublin. 
I  have  a  great  deal  of  pleasant  conversation  with  the  gentle 
man,  who  as  we  approach  the  harbor  of  Kingston  in  the  steamer, 
invites  me  to  call  and  see  him,  before  I  leave  Ireland,  at  his 
residence  near  Dublin.  Upon  asking  his  name  and  introducing 
myself,  I  find  we  have  the  same  family  name.  He  is  Dr.  Every 
Kennedy.  Upon  looking  at  my  card,  he  tells  me  that,  oddly 
enough,  his  father's  name  is  John  P. — the  same  as  mine.  This 
little  incident  brings  us  into  a  more  intimate  relation,  and  he 
repeats  his  request  that  I  will  come  to  his  country  residence, 
Belgord  Castle,  Glendalkin,  Tallaght,  about  five  miles  from 
Dublin,  He  says  I  must  come  prepared  to  spend  the  night,  as 
he  will  not  let  me  off  until  I  have  slept  in  his  house.  At 
parting,  I  promise  if  I  can  that  I  will  call. 

Paris,  Sept.  26,  1858. — Thackeray  calls  to  see  me,  and  sits 
an  hour  or  two.  He  is  not  looking  well.  He  tells  me  he  has 
need  of  my  assistance  with  his  Virginians, — and  says  Heaven 
has  sent  me  to  his  aid.  He  wants  to  get  his  hero  from  Fort  Du- 
quesne,  where  he  is  confined  a  prisoner  after  Braddock's  defeat, 
and  to  bring  him  to  the  coast  to  embark  for  England.  "  Now 
you  know  all  that  ground,"  he  says  to  me,  "  and  I  want  you  to 
write  a  chapter  for  me  to  describe  how  he  got  off  and  what 
travel  he  made."  He  insists  that  I  shall  do  it.  I  give  him  a 
doubtful  promise  to  do  it  if  I  can  find  time  in  the  thousand 
engagements  that  now  press  upon  me  on  the  eve  of  our  leav 
ing  Paris.  I  would  be  glad  to  do  it  if  circumstances  will  allow.'* 


SECOND   VISIT   TO    EUROPE.  297 

Mr.  Kennedy  and  his  fair  protege  were  prostrated  by  the 
Roman  fever  ;  and  during  many  weeks  of  their  sojourn  in  the 
Eternal  city,  learned  to  appreciate  the  skill  and  kindness  of 
Dr.  Valery.  By  the  advice  of  Sir  Henry  Holland,  Ithe  party  on 
their  return  to  England,  took  a  cottage  in  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
for  the  benefit  of  sea-bathing  and  horseback  exercise ;  six  months 
were  there  passed  very  agreeably  in  the  midst  of  old  friends. 
In  a  letter  written  thence  Mr.  Kennedy  gives  some  general  im 
pressions  of  his  experience  abroad  : 

VENTNOR,  ISLE  OF  WIGHT,     ) 
Medina  Cottage,  Aug.  23,  1858.  j" 
To  GEORGE  S.  BRYAN  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  BRYAN  : — I  have  at  length  got  into  the  most  calm 
and  peaceful  nook  of  terrestrial  comfort  you  can  imagine.  Af 
ter  some  six  or  eight  months  of  wheel-and-paddle  life,  running 
on  the  rail,  whizzing  under  tunnels,  flying  over  bridges,  and 
surging  on  the  waves,  here  I  am,  at  last,  in  a  beautiful  little 
cottage  of  my  own — as  long  as  I  wish  to  keep  it — in  this  pic 
turesque  village  of  Ventnor,  which  sits  upon  the  southern  cliff 
of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  looking  over  a  boundless  expanse  of  s.ea, 
that  is  ever  throwing  its  rich  carpet  of  white  foam  upon  the " 
yellow  sands,  just  fifty  yards  below  the  fanciful  veranda,  upon 
which  my  parlor  windows  open  :  here  I  am,  with  these  glories 
before  me,  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  a  long-coveted  ease,  now 
rendered  more  delightful  by  the  most  delicious  climate  in  the 
world.  The  plash  of  the  waves  comes  pleasantly  to  my  ear,  in 
measured  cadence,  all  day  long;  and,  with  still  more  winning 
music,  to  soothe  me  into  sleep,  and  direct  the  current  of  my 
dreams  during  the  night.  I  give  you  the  benefit  of  this  little 
bit  of  poetical  inspiration,  as  a  necessary  artistic  .device  to  bring 
you  into  full  accord  and  sympathy  with  the  sense  of  satisfaction 
I  feel  at  the  arrival  of  the  time  when  I  can  sit  down  with  be 
coming  abandon,  to  indulge  myself  in  the  long-suspended  de 
light  of  writing  a  letter  to  a  friend.  Now  stop,  before  you  read 
another  line,  and  in  order  that  you  may  establish  the  most  ge 
nial  rapport  between  us,  for  the  imbibing  of  the  true  spirit  in 

n* 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 

which  I  write,  put  an  arm-chair  on  the  porch,  on  the  breezy  side 
of  your  house,  obtaining,  if  you  can,  a  good,  clear  view  of  the 
Atlantic ;  taking  care,  also,  that  the  weather  be  serene,  and,  at 
the  sa.me  time,  exhilarating,  and  that  the  hour  be  that  in  which 
your  humanity  is  most  healthful  and  complacent — and  then, 
seat  yourself  in  a  comfortable,,  unrestrained,  and,  indeed,  luxu 
rious  manner.  You  will  thus  bring  your  animal  spirits  into  the 
jocund  equipoise  which  I  wish  you  to  attain.  Now,  read  on  : 

My  Dear  Bryan : — I  received  your  delightful  and  loving 
letters  of  the  loth  and  2oth  of  April,  at  Vienna,  on  the  2isc 
of  May,  where  they  had  been  awaiting  my  arrival  some  weeks. 
They  brought  me,  in  addition  to  your  own  pleasant  gossip  of 
five  sheets,  the  remarkable  effort  of  our  young  pupil  in  his  first 
essay  of  authorship,  which,  I  hope,  will  hereafter  expand  into 
grander  volume,  and  bring  him  a  fame  as  ample,  in  proportion, 
as  his  autograph,  which  now  engrosses  so  large  a  portion  of 
the  field  of  his  labor.  I  got,  also,  the  newspapers  touching  Ev 
erett's  reception,  and  your  oration — for  which  it  is  not  neces 
sary  to  say  how  grateful  I  felt.  You  know  how  felicitously  the 
beautiful  old  Scripture  phrase  refers  to  the  highest  type  of  per 
sonal  content,  when  it  speaks  of  the  delight  of  "  tidings  from 
a  distant  land."  When  that  land  is  the  traveller's  home,  and 
the  tidings  come  from  the  best  of  his  friends — you  have  the 
additions  that  truly  express  my  pleasure  in  your  letter.  I  wish 
I  had  another  chair  beside  yours  on  the  porch,  to  give  you  the 
pleasant  things  that  now  remain  upon  my  memory,  after  having 
made  my  circuit  of  exploration  of  this  Old  World.  It  is  im 
possible  to  do  it  on  paper,  unless  I  should  sit  down  seriously 
to  the  task  which  you  invoke,  of  writing  a  book.  Whether 
I  shall  do  that  or  not,  when  I  get  home,  will  depend  upon 
the  question  which  relates  to  the  correspondence  between  my 
performance  and  my  intentions — a  correspondence  which  my 
experience  proves  to  be  exposed  to  many  disappointments. 
But,  if  I  were  under  a  good  roof,  or  the  broad  sky  either, 
within  speaking  distance  of  you,  I  could  amaze  you  with  a 
yarn  of  as  many  colors  as  Joseph's,  coat.  At  present,  "  you 


SECOND    VISIT    TO    EUROPE.  299 

must  be  content  learn  the  whereabouts  merely,  and  postpone 
the  «'/^/abouts."  I  told  you  how  we  got  along  at  Rome. 
Thence,  after  seeing  every  thing,  and  finding  how  unfavorable 
that  climate  was  to  the  hope  of  recovering  my  health,  I  took 
my  departure  without  regret,  and  moved  on,  by  a  three  days' 
journey,  to  Florence.  It  was  beautiful  spring-time  when  we 
arrived  there,  and  our  visit  had  so  many  captivations,  both  of 
climate  and  scenery,  that  I  got,  at  once,  into  good  health,  and 
have,  ever  since  continued  in  the  best  possible  condition  for 
enjoyment.  We  spent  a  month  in  the  north  of  Italy  :  visiting 
Bologna,  Mantua,  Verona,  Milan,  Turin,  Lakes  Maggiore,  Lu 
gano  and  Como,  and  so,  by  way  of  Padua,  to  Venice.  How 
you,  with  your  susceptible  nature,  and  keen  appreciation  of  the 
beautiful,  would  enjoy  that  round  among  the  finest  things  in  na 
ture  and  art,  and  the  oddest  things  in  the  domain  of  human  cre 
dulity  !  (Think  of  the  brazen  serpent  of  the  wilderness,  which  I 
saw,  with  my  own  eyes,  at  Milan  !)  Venice  is  perfectly  delicious. 
It  is  an  old,  illuminated  missal,  full  of  the  quaintest  figures.  A 
scene  in  a  showy  pantomime — and  then,  again,  it  is.  a  pictur 
esque  chapter  in  a  sea  novel.  It  has  so  many  faces  that  I  can't 
describe  them.  But  one  characteristic  it  has,  that  runs  through 
all  its  entire  phases — of  being  the  most  sunshiny,  voluptuous, 
indolent  and  happy  spot  for  a  lazy  and  romantic  lounger,  that 
human  industry  could  produce.  After  a  week,  we  bade  adieu 
to  Venice,  and  the  whole  land  of  Polcinello,  and  came  over  to 
Trieste,  and  thence  to  Vienna.  From  Vienna  to  Dresden — 
where  I  saw  Colonel  Preston  and  his  daughter  most  comfort 
ably,  in  a  material  sense,  domesticated  there,  but  with  painful 
solicitude  for  the  health  of  his  son.  .  From  Dresden  to  Berlin, 
to  Potsdam,  to  Dusseldorf,  to  Amsterdam,  to  Paris,  to  London, 
to  this  snug  sea-side  retreat  at  Ventnor.  Now,  then,  you  have 
the  line  !  Fill  it  up  with  mountains,  plains,  rivers,  old  castles, 
churches,  palaces,  picture  galleries  and  indescribable  museums, 
with  the  everlasting  occurrence  of  the  ubiquitous  soldier,  and 
the  frequent  apparition  of  the  priest,  with  beer  gardens,  operas, 
promenades,  drives  and  ices,  and  you  will  get  the  material,  at 


300  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

least,  if  you  do  not  get  the  arrangement  of  the  glass  beads  of 
our  kaleidoscope.  In  this  jumble  of  the  elements  and  the  in 
dustry  with  which  we  explored  them -from  morning  to  night,  for 
months  together,  you  may  find  a  foundation  for  a  theory  upon 
which  you  may  solve  the  question,  how  it  has  come  to  pass,  that 
here,  and  now,  only,  on  this  23d  of  August,  I  am  answering 
your  letters  of  loth  and  2oth  of  April.  *  *  *  I  think  I  have 
settled  that  matter  to  your  entire  satisfaction,  and  so  1  finish 
part  second,  upon  which  I  think  it  appropriate  to  make  another 
pause.  *  '#  *  *  *  # 

How  many  things  I  have  to  talk  about,  how  much  to  say 
to  you,  if  I  coulcl  only  say  it !  But  paper,  pen  and  ink,  and 
post-office,  all  forbid  much  talking  in  this  fashion.  My  topic 
would  be  this  old  world,  which  to  me  is  so  amazingly  new.  We 
have  a  reverence  at  home  for  Miles  Standish,  for  the  old  black 
pot  of  the  Mayflower,  and  for  the  mysterious  wind-mill  at  New 
port.  We  actually  brag  of  De  Soto  and  the  fountain  of  Bimini, 
and  have  an  archaeological  furor  upon  the  mounds  in  the  Mus- 
kingum.  But  what  a  set  of  infantile  juvenilities  do  these  all  be 
come  in  the  conceit  of  a  man  who  has  seen  the  brazen  serpent, 
four  girdles  of  the  Virgin,  and  five  Madonnas  painted  by  St. 
Luke  !  to  say  nothing  of  the  bones  of  Abraham,  Isaac  and  Ja 
cob,  which  I  saw  at  Prague,  or,  at  least,  I  saw  the  box  in  which 
they  are  kept.  Why,  sir,  here,  on  this  Isle  of  Wight,  are  old 
fortifications  to  keep  off  the  Danes,  and  to  frighten  Hengist 
and  Horsa.  Carisbrook  Castle  is  a  piece  of  green  modernity 
in  our  present  estimation,  and  the  terraces,  walls  and  gateways, 
which  are  in  my  familiar  walks  around  this  village,  are  some 
of  them  older  than  Captain  Smith's  love  affair  with  Tragabig- 
zanda. 

It  is  something  in  a  man's  training  to  arrive  at  this  percep 
tion  of  the  world's  history.  But,  notwithstanding  its  monu 
ments,  England  is  so  much  like  our  own  country,  that  it  almost 
seems  like  getting  home,  to  come  here  from  the  continent. 
Everywhere  else  you  have  the  most  actual  consciousness,  all 
the  time,  that  you  are  in  a  foreign  land.  The  continent  is, 


SECOND    VISIT  'TO    EUKOPE.  301 

universally,  with  a  very  few  exceptions,  dingy  with  age.  Italy 
is  absolutely  hoary ;  the  out-door  statues,  ballustrades,  architec 
tural  embellishments,  are  almost  black,  and  often  mossy,  like 
our  Alleghany  rocks.  In  England  there  are  everywhere  new, 
bright,  beautiful  dwellings.  The  landscape  is  varied  with  in 
conceivably  rich,  velvety  parks,  lawns  and  groves,  magnificent 
flower  gardens,  grand,  healthy,  shady  forests,  and  trim,  neat 
and  thrifty  seed-fields.  It  has  reached  the  highest  point  of 
useful  service  combined  with  perfect  embellishment,  and  future 
centuries  cannot  make  it  more  perfect.  Indeed,  England  al 
together  approaches  the  beau  ideal.  It  is  as  free  as  human* 
institutions  can  make  it.  It  is  far  the  most  intelligent  and 
educated  of  nations,  and  it  is,  undoubtedly,  the  most  power 
ful.  Its  people  are  proud  of  it,  and  their  loyalty  is  a  part  of 
their  religion.  The  contentment  of  all  classes  is  a  most  strik 
ing  and  happy  fact  to  the  observation  of  the  traveller  ;  and  the 
hospitable,  generous  and  hearty  character  of  the  gentlemen 
of  England  invokes  a  continued  admiration. 

To  our  eyes,  there  are  some  conspicuous  defects,  both  in 
the  organization  and  temper  of  society,  which  I  account  to  be 
the  natural  product  of  its  growth.  England,  or,  more  proper 
ly  speaking,  modern  England,  has  always  been  in  the  front  of 
European  civilization,  and  her  hardihood  and  manly  quality 
arise  out  of  her  perpetual  struggle  to  maintain  her  position. 
As  she  may  be  said  to  have  always  been,  with  reference  to  Eu 
rope,  a.  protesting  power,  that  is  to  say,  thinking  for  herself,  and 
rising  above  the  inertness  and  stationary  level  of  the  old  gov 
ernments  and  their  prescriptive  abuses  ;  to  have  always  been, 
in  this  sense,  protestant  in  government  and  in  social  custom, 
as  well  as  in  religion,  she  has  ever  been,  for  this  reason,  look 
ed  upon  with  dislike  by  the  established  despotisms  around  her 
— just  as,  at  this  time,  Sardinia  is  disliked  by  every  other  gov 
ernment  in  Italy.  England,  therefore,  has  been  obliged  to 
keep  herself  ever  in  harness,  ready  for  every  emergency.  This 
condition  of  watchfulness — ever  maintaining  peace  by  a  war 
like  attitude — has,  for  centuries,  insulated  her  people  quite  as 


302  LIFE    OF    JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 

much  as  her  geographical  position  has  done,  and  out  of  this 
insulation  her  good  opinion  of  herself,  and  her  social  exclu- 
siveness,  have  grown.  And  now,  as  the  product  of  this  long 
national  exaltation,  every  man  and  woman  in  England  is  im 
bued  with  a  personal  conviction,  not  only  that  the  nation  is  the 
greatest  of  nations,  but  that  the  people,  individually,  are  each 
and  all,  the  greatest  of  people.  They,  therefore,  cannot  help 
showing,  with  all  their  hospitality,  kindness,  and  generous  wel 
come,  that  the  practice  of  these  virtues  to  a  foreigner  is  some 
thing  of  condescension  ;  and  to  us  of  the  United  States,  par 
ticularly,  whose  eyes  are  unblessed  with  the  display  of  titular 
grandeur,  and  who  have  never  had  the  happiness  to  live  in,  or 
in  sight  of  a  court  circle,  the  good-will  of  these  people  is  offer 
ed,  and  expected  to  be  received  by  us,  as  the  benevolent  pat 
ronage  of  an  amiable  grandee  to  a  poor  relation.  Of  course, 
this  provokes  some  distaste  on  our  side,  and  is  a  cause  of  suffi 
cient  magnitude  to  drive  away  multitudes  of  our  people  from 
England  altogether,  and  to  lead  them  to  France,  where,  if  the 
people  dislike  us— as  I  am  sure  they  do,  and  every,  thing  that 
belongs  to  us — we  don't  know  it,  and  still  less  do  we  care. 
French  opinion  is  concealed  from  us  by  the  language,  and  all 
attention  is  diverted  from  the  inquiry  into  it,  by  the  amuse 
ments,  the  frivolities  and  the  profligacies  of  Paris.  I  profess 
my  immeasurable  preference  for  England  with  all  her  draw 
backs,  to  France,  or,  indeed,  any  nation  on  the  continent. 
England  is  honest,  manly  and  truthful,  and  you  feel  that  you 
may  confide  in  her  as  sincere  in  what  she  does.  France, 
with  a  vast  number  of  good  things,  is  too  dramatic,  too  impul 
sive,  too  vain,  and  too  light,  to  make  a  good  friend.  So,  again 
I  say,  England  for  me !  I  think  we  are  close  upon  the  time 
which  is  to  witness  a  great  change  in  the  social  and  political  esti 
mates  of  our  two  countries  for  each  other.  They  are  opening 
their  eyes  here  to  juster  views  of  us  and  our  policy,  and  it  is  quite 
in  the  course  of  probable  things,  that  the  new  era  will  date 
from  the  great  historical  event — the  greatest  since  the  voyage 
of  Columbus — of  the  laying  of  the  Atlantic  cable.  I  look  to 


SECOND    A'  IS  IT    TO    EUROPE.  303 

see,  in  speedy  development  and  progression,  the  most  liberal 
adoption,  on  both  sides,  of  a  policy  of  brotherhood  much  more 
real  than  that  of  which  we  have  been  talking  so  nonsensically 
every  year  at  dinner  tables  I  think  the  French  alliance  will, 
in  due  time — not  far  off — melt  away,  and  other  combinations  of 
European  politics  arise,  which  will  kindle  a  fervor  of  good  feel 
ing  between  England  and  America.  For,  after  all,  with  all' 
our  old  grudges,  if  the  liberty  or  independence  of  England 
should  be  assailed  by  any  powerful  combination  of  Old  World 
absolutism,  don't  you  think  the  Anglo-Saxon  blood  in  our  veins 
would  warm  up  to  stand  by  our  kinsmen  in  the  quarrel  ?  Could 
we  be  content  to  see  another  Norman  cross  the  channel,  with 
his  mailed  and  gauntleted  followers,  to  sweep  away  once  more 
the  beautiful  monuments  of  our  race — the  churches,  colleges, 
and  cities,  so  full  of  the  mind,  heart  and  worship,  that  are  as 
much  our  treasures  as  they  are  England's  ?  Could  we  willing 
ly,  and  without  a  desire  to  prevent  it,  see  those  old  and  afflu 
ent  fountains  of  English  law  and  liberty,  and  those  grand  res 
ervoirs  of  English  thought  and  sentiment,  in  danger  of  being 
seized  upon,  drained,  dried  up  and  obliterated,  by  a  horde  of 
Front  de  Bceufs,  De  Bois  Guilberts  and  Malvois-ins  ?  I  think  not. 
Rather,  I  think,  we  should  verify  Benton's  prophecy — though 
in  a  different  sense  from  his — "  The  day  will  come — and  the 
babe  is  now  born  who  will  see  it — when  an  American  brigade 
will  hold  a  review  in  Hyde  Park."  To  be  sure  it  will !  and  I 
hope  that  it  will  come,  at  the  earliest  moment,  after  the  news 
shall  be  brought  by  telegraph  of  a  continental  invasion  of  Eng 
land,  that  a  brigade  of  our  stout  fellows  can  be  steamed  across 
the  Atlantic.  Now,  in  my  opinion,  and  this  is  the  sum  of  my 
view  of  the  national  politics,  England  will  be  wise  if  she  con 
templates  such  an  emergency  in  time,  and  shall  direct  her 
policy  and  social  influence  steadily  to  the  preparation  of  the 
English  and  American  mind  for  it.  I  believe  the  signs  are 
now  that  she  will ;  and  I  shall  be  disappointed  if  the  next  ten 
years  do  not  witness  a  more  cordial  agreement  and  reciprocal 
esteem  between  the  people  and  governments  of  the  two  nations, 


304:  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY*. 

respectively.  We  are  already  the  only  two  real  republics  in 
the  world — England  being,  in  fact,  quite  as  much  of  a  republic 
as  we  are — and  the  probabilities  are  that  we  shall  have  to 
combine  for  the  defence  of  the  republican  principle  against  its 
natural  enemies,  wherever  they  may  arise — and  for  its  diffu 
sion  over  the  world,  wherever  it  may  suit  our  occasions  to 
plant  it. 

In  the  perception  of  this  necessity,  I  prophesy  :  ist,  that 
England  will  abandon  her  cant  about  the  iniquity  of  slavery  in 
America — .or,  at  least,  turn  it  over  to  that  harmless  community, 
which  is  as  self-important  as  fussy,  and  as  absurd  here  as  its 
fellowship  on  our  side  is — the  good  people  who  think  that  the 
grand  national  interest  of  States  should  be  postponed  and  ig 
nored,  to  make  way  for  a  millennium  of  saints,  who  are  to  gov 
ern  the  world  in  universal  peace,  with  any  quantity  of  lectures 
and  moonshine.  My  prediction  is,  that  English  statesmen, 
and,  with  them,  the  English  public,  will  concur  to  leave  the 
question  of  slave  labor  to  the  progress  and  destiny  assigned 
to  it  by  the  laws  of  political  economy,  which  are  but  another 
name  for  the  decrees  of  Providence.  2d,  I  prophesy,  as  a  cor 
ollary  from  this,  that  England  will  acquiesce  with  us,  and  ad 
mit  the  necessity  of  our  acquisition  of  Cuba,  whenever  our 
own  view  of  that  necessity  shall  prompt  us  to  consummate 
the  act,  and  that  she  will  manifest  an  honorable  confidence 
in  our  integrity  and  justice  in  deciding  that  question.  3d,  I 
prophesy  that  England  will  invite,  or  if  not  invite,  complacent 
ly  look  upon  our  cooperation  with  her  in  the  peopling  and  set 
tlement  of  her  vast  domain  on  our  continent,  hoping,  and  ex 
pecting,  in  that  enterprise,  to  see  an  expansion  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  element,  and  its  kindreds,  over  the  northern  portions  of 
America,  spread  into  many  communities — all  affiliated  with  us 
and  with  the  mother  country,  by  free  institutions,  by  the  same 
forms  of  civilization,  and  by  a  similar  industry — and  in  that 
field  to  find  a  new  commerce  and  an  abundant  agriculture,  to 
sustain  it  equally  for  the  benefit  of  both.  4th,  I  prophesy  that 
all  that  region  will  rise  to  great  prosperity  and  influence  under 


SECOND   VISIT   TO    EUROPE.  305 

this  policy,  and  that  when  the  proper  period  of  maturity  arrives, 
it  will  assume  the  position  of  an  independent  republic,  with 
the  full  and  hearty  concurrence  of  the  government  of  Eng 
land. 

It  is  my  faith  in  these  predictions  which  induces  me  to  say, 
that  a  new  era  is  at  hand,  which  will  be  characterized  by  a 
hearty  agreement  between  England  and  the  United  States. 

Now,  there — I  have  given  you  a  sermon  which  you  may 
digest  at  your  leisure.  If  I  had  any  music,  I  would  here  in 
troduce  the  choir,  and  give  out,  after  the  manner  of  the  learned 
professors  at  Yale  College,  a  hymn  to  be  sung  by  you  and 
Mrs,  B.,  and  Isaac  Marion  and  Rebecca  Marion,  and  Kenny 
and  Kate,  and  all  the  .rest  of  them—"  Old  Hundred,"  sir,  if 
you  please,  with  which  I  shall  conclude. 

I  have  engaged  our  homeward  passages  in  the  Persia,  which 
is  advertised  to  sail  on  the  i6th  of  October.  So,  we  may  hope, 
once  more  to  touch  our  beloved  soil — the  best  in  the  world, 
after  all,  for  those  who  are  born  to  its  birthrights — before 
that  month  is  out.  I  shall  be  truly  thankful  to  get  back  to 
dear  Maryland,  and  within  speaking  distance  of  the  match 
less  friends  who  have  made  it  a  sunny  land  for  me  and  mine. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  tired  of  roaming — which  confession, 
you  will  say,  imports  that  I  am  getting  old — which  by  the  bye, 
is  a  truth  I  am  rather  proud  to  avow,  as  it  gives  me  some 
claim,  or,  at  least,  apology  for  it,  to  inflict  upon  you  this  tedi 
ous  discourse  on  men  and  things. 

Yours,  ever, 

J.  P.  K. 


306  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

During  the  Rebellion. 

THERE  is  an  unwritten  chapter  in  the  History  of  the 
War  for  the  Union.  It  is  that  which  will  record  the 
moral  suffering  of  those  who  had  to  endure  the  alienation  of 
life-long  friends,  and  the  perverse  violence  of  kindred ;  a 
chapter  which  describes  the  trials  of  those  whom  age  and 
physical  infirmities  debared  from  the  relief  which  military 
service  yields  the  patriotic  heart;  who  had  to  "stand  and 
wait,"  and  only  serve  the  cause  they  espoused,  by  patient  ar 
gument,  by  kindly  forbearance,  by  earnest  pleadings  and  by  a 
noble  ministry  to  the  victims  of  war,  on  both  sides ;  whose 
ties  of  blood,  of  neighborhood  and  of  personal  sympathy,  only 
aggravated  their  indignation  and  sorrow  at  the  disloyalty 
around  them  ;  and  whose  magnanimity  was  only  equalled  by 
their  firmness  and  fealty.  Among  these  Mr.  Kennedy  stands 
nobly  in  the  foreground. 

"  May  we  revive  the  memory  of  domestic  war  and  will  such 
recollection  be  magnanimous  ?"  asks  the  commemorative  ora 
tor  of  Princeton  College,  on  the  Memorial  Day  of  her  martyrs 
for  the  Union ;  and  he  answers  the  self-interrogatory  thus : 
"  If  painful  recollection  and  humiliation  were  the  ends  con 
templated,  let  it  be  utterly  forgotten ;  but  the  commemoration 
has  important  ends  beyond  itself.  It  is  testimony  to  truth, 
wrought  out  by  experiences  in  the  past ;  it  is  instruction  to  the 
present  age.  It  records  teaching  for  generations  yet  to  fol 
low  ;  and  this  war  has  developed  vital  doctrine  which  must 
needs  be  asserted  and  re-asserted  until  it  is  rooted  deep  in 


DURING    THE   REBELLION.  307 

the  practical  convictions  of  our  American  people  :  accepted  as 
fundamental  in  their  established  creed,  infused,  like  an  innate 
idea,  into  the  belief  of  their  children.  The  due  appreciation 
of  the  inestimable  worth  of  the  Union,  must  be  secured  by  re 
newed  consideration  of  the  agony  and  sacrifice  it  cost  to 
save  it.''* 

To  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Kennedy,  the  conflict  between  two 
sections  of  the  country  and  between  certain  States  and  the 
Nation,  was  not  a  political,  but  a  patriotic  question ;  in  his 
view  it  was  no  partisan  dispute,  but  a  problem  involving  the 
life  of  the  nation.  The  path  of  right  and  duty,  of  wisdom  and 
honor,  was  as  clear  as  noonday  •  but  the  position  he  occupied 
and  the  task  he  felt  bound  to  perform,  involved  the  keenest 
suffering  to  his  gentle  nature,  and  the  deepest  solicitude  of  his 
patriotic  heart.  The  native  of  a  border  State,  yet  most  inti 
mately  associated  with  the  political  leaders  of  the  North ;  a 
witness  of  the  nullification  experiment  of  Calhoun,  and  cogni 
zant  of  all  its  processes  and  phenomena ;  with  a  large  num 
ber  of  relatives  in  Virginia,  of  which  State,  in  its  normal  ten 
dencies  civic  and  social,  he  had  made  a  study  •  and,  at  the 
same  time,  a  citizen  who  cherished  the  most  broad  and  high 
views  as  to  the  duty  and  destiny  of  his  country, — few  Ameri 
cans,  from  their  antecedents,  surroundings  and  experience, 
occupied  such  a  desirable  vantage  ground  as  Mr.  Kennedy,  for 
a  just  estimate  of  the  facts  of  the  hour.  He  penetrated  at 
once,  to  the  core  of  the  evil;  he  had  become  familiar  with  the 
encroachments  of  Southern  politicians  and  their  dreams  of 
empire ;  he  had  long  known  and  humorously  described  the 
provincial  egotism  and  political  -crotchets  of  the  sophistical 
State-rights  party  of  Virginia  ;  and  secession  projects  had 
Ion*  before  been  discussed  in  his  presence  ;  the  manoeuvres 
of  unscrupulous  and  ambitious  schemers  to  commit  the  South 
to  a  desperate  enterprise,  were  also  apparent  to  him  ;  but 

*  Dr.  Duryea's  Commemorative  Address,  delivered  at  the  request 
of  the  Trustees  of  Princeton  College,  June  26,  I860. 


308  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

he  was  equally  well  acquainted  with  the  worth  and  wisdom  of 
the  Southern  conservatives,  and  with  the  vast  resources  and  un 
flinching  loyalty  of  the  North  ;  and,  above  all,  he  felt  how  im 
possible  it  was  for  any  American,  of  clear  judgment,  accurate 
knowledge  and  genuine  probity,  to  shut  his  eyes  to  the  folly 
and  wickedness  of  an  attempt  to  destroy  the  Union  by  force 
of  arms  and  in  the  interest  of  slavery.  Hence,  after  the  first 
shock  of  grief  and  astonishment  at  the  impending  struggle, 
had  passed  away,  he  confidently  hoped  the  sober  second 
thought  of  the  people  would  effect  a  reconciliation.  To  this 
belief  he  clung  and  labored  assiduously  for  its  realization. 
He  opened  a  correspondence  with  his  old  political  allies ; 
wrote  strong  appeals  to  his  Southern  friends  ;  made  constant 
visits  to  Washington  to  consult  with  the  influential  friends  of 
peace ;  and  with  pen  and  voice,  sought  to  awaken,  in  the  pop 
ular  mind,  a  sense  of  the  awful  consequences  of  civil  war  and 
the  utter  inadequacy  of  the  alleged  reasons  so  cunningly  mar 
shalled,  to  "fire  the  Southern  heart." 

•  A  club,  styled  "  The  Monday  Club,"  met  alternately  at  the 
houses  of  the  various  members  each  Monday  in  the  winter  sea 
son,  and  during  its  existence  was  the  most  agreeable  reunion 
in  Baltimore,  and  was  almost  certain  to  command  the  pres 
ence  of  any  distinguished  stranger  who  chanced  to  be  in  town. 
Mr.  Kennedy  was  among  the  most  punctual  in  attendance. 
"  He  was  always  full  of  the  subject  that  most  occupied  his 
attention,"  says  a  member,  "  and  without  engrossing  the  con 
versation  would  be  certain  to  allude  to  it  during  the  evening. 
At  that  time  he  had  for  the  most  part  retired  from  active  po 
litical  life,  but  took  a  deep  interest  in  the  political  discussions 
of  the  day,  which  he  aided  in  elucidating  by  occasional  contri 
butions  to  the  National  Intelligencer,  in  which  many  of  his  best 
political  essays  appeared.  This  was  about  the  time  when  the 
sectional  discussions  in  Congress  began  to  assume  the  angry 
character  they  afterward  took.  On  one  occasion,  Kennedy 
appeared  at  the  club  gloomy  and  desponding,  and  soon  turned 
the  conversation  to  the  theme  that  most  occupied  his  thoughts. 


DURIXG    THE    REBELLION.  309 

He  had  just  returned  from  Washington,  where  he  had  con 
versed  freely  with  the  more  prominent  Southern  members, 
most  of  whom  had  been  his  colleagues  in  the  previous  sessions 
of  Congress. 

"  I  have  great  apprehension,"  said  he,  "  for  the  perpetuity 
of  the  Union,  and  I  know  not  how  soon  this  beautiful  fabric 
of  government,  the  best  that  the  world  has  ever  seen,  may  be 
rent  into  pieces." 

I  remember  that  I  expressed  doubts  as  to  the  grounds  of 
his  fears,  and  urged  that  the  present  exacerbation  of  feeling 
would  give  place  to  one  in  which  both  sections  would  be  per 
fectly  willing  to  do  justice  to  each  other. 

"  So  I  thought,"  replied  he,  "  before  I  went  to  Washington  ; 
but  when  I  heard — as  I  have  within  a  few  days — grave  and 
cautious  Southern  statesmen,  in  whose  opinions  I  have  been 
accustomed  to  repose  great  confidence,  deliberately  calcula 
ting  the  advantages  that  would  accrue  to  their  section  by  a  sep 
aration  from  the  North,  I  must  confess  that  my  confidence  has 
vanished,  and  given  place  to  the  most  gloomy  forebodings  for 
the  future." 

The  opinion  of  the  gentlemen  present,  without  exception, 
was  that  Kennedy's  fears  were  groundless  ;  but  he  continued 
to  argue  his  point  with  much  ability,  giving  a  number  of  facts 
bearing  upon  the  question  which,  in  a  few  days  after,  appear 
ed  in  the  columns  of  the  National  Intelligencer 'in  an  essay  from 
a  "  valued  contributor,"  in  which  the  evils  of  dissolution  were 
most  vividly  portrayed.  In  the  course  of  his  remarks,  turning 
directly  to  me,  he  said,  with  great  emphasis,  "  I  consider  the 
danger  imminent ;  and  I  believe  it  to  be  the  duty  of  every  one 
who  can  write,  to  exercise  his  influence  in  attempting  to  save 
our  now  happy  country  from  impending  ruin."  The  sequel  has 
shown  that  Kennedy's  insight  into  the  future  was  far  clearer 
than  that  of  his  opponents." 

He  had  thus  early  foreseen  and  anticipated  the  tendencies 
of  the  hour  ;  under  date  of  March  2,  1857,  he  writes  :  "  Inter 
view  with  Buchanan  ;  and,  speaking  of  the  present  disturbances 


310  LIFE    OF    JOHN  I».  KENNEDY. 

in  the  country,  I  told  him  that  I  thought  he  had  both  the  power 
and  the  opportunity  to  do  much  good,  by  healing  dissension 
and  making  a  strong  national  party  in  favor  of  maintaining  the 
Union  against  all  factions — as  it  was  his  good  fortune  to  be  op 
posed  by  the  ultras  both  North  and  South." 

Again  he  writes  :  Washington,  July,  1860. — Crittenden  and 
I  had  a  long  talk  on  the  condition  of  affairs.  We  agree  to 
work  together  for  the  restoration  of  peace  at  the  first  moment 
that  may  be  practicable  ;  we  hope  that  at  the  opening  of  Con 
gress  in  the  fall,  a  more  auspicious  state  of  things  may  exist.  I 
promised  to  write  him. 

Aug.  3. — I  fear  the  division  of  North  and  South  is  becoming 
too  inveterate  for  future  reconciliation.  We  find  a  strong  hope 
of  peace  in  the  belief  that  a  large  number  of  the  people  of  the 
South,  comprehending  perhaps  a  majority — of  the  wealth  and 
business  interests  in  several  States,  are  averse  to  disunion  and 
are  repressed  and  subdued  by  the  despotism  of  the  ruling  party." 
Having  been  invited  to  prepare  an  appeal  in  accordance  with 
these  views,  he  thus  remonstrates  at  the  manner  in  which  it 
was  toned  down  before  publication  : 

BALTIMORE,  FEB.  20, 1860. 

MY  DEAR  CRITTENDEN  : — The  mail  this  morning  brings  me 
the  address  as  remoulded  under  the  revision  of  the  Committee. 
It  strikes  me  zz  very  tame  and  little,  likely  to  carry  much  per 
suasion  with  it.  As  an  advertisement  of  a  plan  of  organization, 
it  contains  every  thing  that  is  necessary,  and  so  far  as  the  con 
servatives  of  the  country  have  already  made  up  their  mind  to 
enter  into  the  next  canvass,  it  will,  serve  to  give  them  a  centre 
and  set  them  in  motion.  But  to  create  a  new  party  and  to  call 
out  men  from  the  ranks  of  the  other  two,  and  to  rouse  thought 
ful  men  to  a  perception  of  the  follies  and  dangers  which  should 
invoke  them  io  take  a  part  in  the  movement,  I  think  it  fails  to 
present  the  motives  which  exist  to  recommend  it.  What  I 
conceive  we  want  just  now  is,  such  a  statement  of  party  misrule 
as  shall  demonstrate  to  all  the  world  that  those  who  have 


DUKING    THE    REBELLION.  oil 

brought  the  country  into  its  present  deranged  condition  are  un 
worthy  to  be  further  trusted.  This,  in  its  very  nature,  implies 
a  candid  and  severe  criticism  of  the  errors  of  party,  and  even 
a  sharp  censure  of  their  faithlessness  to  the  public  interest. 
The  men  who  conduct  these  parties,  or  who  follow  their  lead, 
may  be  treated  more  kindly,  and  in  some  degree  be  excused. 
We  may  regard  them  with  the  charity  due  to  the  errors  of  over 
heated  zeal  and  perverted  judgment.  Now,  that  is  the  view  in 
which  I  prepared  the  address.  I  thought  it  important  that,  by 
such  a  review  of  the  course  of  the  two  parties  on  the  prominent 
question  out  of  which  the  disorders  of  the  day  have  been  pro 
duced,  we  should  furnish  topic  and  argument  for  public  discus 
sion,  and  provide  our  friends  with  ammunition  for  the  contest. 
A  mere  recital  of  common-place  sentiment  touching  the  value 
of  the  Union  and  the  danger  of  passionate  extremes,  which  the 
newspapers  and  the  speakers  at  Union  meetings  make  the  theme 
of  declamation,  is,  in  my  judgment,  scarcely  sufficient  for  the 
occasion — unless,  indeed,  as  I  have  remarked,  the  country  is 
already  convinced  of  the  necessity  of  a  revolt  against  the  dom 
ination  of  both  parties.  The  committee  can  judge  better  than 
I  can  as  to  that  fact.  But  if  my  view  is  a  correct  one,  it  is  ob 
vious  that  the  address,  to  discuss  the  grounds  upon  which  a  new 
party  has  become  necessary,  must  be  a  somewhat  long  and  ar 
gumentative  paper.  Our  address,  as  now  finally  adopted,  will 
persuade  none,  not  already  convinced,  though  it  will  doubtless 
serve  to  animate  those  who  are  waiting  to  know  how  they  are 
to  fall  into  the  ranks." 

"  The  accounts  are  confirmatory,"  he  writes  in  December, 
1860,  "  of  the  worst  in  the  South  ;  I  think  it  scarcely  possible 
that  this  wicked  frenzy  can  last  much  longer.  I  have  been  all 
the  week  at  work  upon  my  tract — '  The  -Border  States — their 
Power  and  Duty  in  the  present  disordered  state  of  the  Country.' 
I  have  some  hope  it  may  do  good."  No  more  seasonable  ap 
peal  illustrated  the  first  stages  of  the  civil  strife,  than  this  able 
argument  to  show  how  effectively  the  Border  States,  if  united 
and  resolved,  could  stay  the  tide  of  rebellion  and  harmonize 


312  LIFE    OF   JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 

the  antagonistic  elements  of  the  extreme  sections ;  while  all  ac 
knowledged  its  cogency  and  wisdom  as  well  as  its  excellent 
tone  and  perspicuous  style,  those  who  most  warmly  responded 
to  its  views,  were  those  who  most  sadly  declared  it  came  too  late 
to  calm  the  surges  of  passion  by  the  pleas  and  protests  of  Rea 
son  and  of  Right.  A  few  days  after  the  last  entry  in  his  note 
book,  on  the  twentieth  of  December,  Mr.  Kennedy  writes  :  "  The 
news  this  morning  is  that  South  Carolina  seceded  from  the 
Union  yesterday  ;  a  great  act  of  supreme  folly  and  injustice  pass 
ed  by  a  set  of  men  who  have  inflamed  the  passions  of  the  peo 
ple  and  driven  the  State  headlong  into  an  enterprise  which 
history  will  record  as  the  most  foolish  of  blunders  as  well  as 
most  wicked  of  crimes.  It  is  the  mock  heroism  of  men  who 
do  not  comprehend  their  own  incapacity  ;  who  mistake  passion 
for  a  just  sentiment  of  honor;  and  who  cannot  perceive  the 
desperate  extreme  of  their  own  folly.  They  will  live  to  repent 
the  wickedness  of  this  act  which  is  destined  to  be  visited  upon 
them  in  the  ruin  of  their  country  and  in  the  detestable  fame  it 
is  to  confer  upon  them."  Thenceforth  he  notes  the  progress 
of  the  Rebellion,  from  day  to  day ;  comments  on  its  origin  and 
purposes ;  and,  with  singular  prescience,  suggests  its  probable 
fortune  and  certain  failure.  Meantime  he  was  attending  paci 
fication  meetings,  holding  conferences  with  loyal  friends,  re 
monstrating  with  disloyal  relatives  ;  and  sadly  adding,  from 
week  to  week,  to  the  catalogue  of  traitors  in  naval,  military  and 
civil  life,  as  their  names  transpired  as  deserters  from  the  old 
flag.  Still  he  was  incredulous  as  to  the  culmination  of  the 
plot  in  deliberate  and  prolonged  hostilities ;  still  he  trusted 
common  sense  and  conscience  would  prevail.  "  The  plot  thick- 
•ens,"  he  writes,  Jan.  4th,  1861.  "  I  am  strongly  impressed  with 
the  idea  that  the  North  is  playing  a  game  of  bravado  as  well  as 
the  South,  and  before  ten  days  Lincoln  will  interfere  and  terms 
will  be  offered  which  will  secure  peace."  These  illusions  were 
dispelled  in  a  few  weeks  ;  on  the  thirteenth  of  April,  he  writes  : 
"  Yesterday  was  the  birthday  of  Henry  Clay.  It  was  signalized 
by  a  most  memorable  and  melancholy  fact — the  opening  of  the 


DURING    THE    REBELLION.  313 

civil  war  by  the  assault  of  the  Carolina  batteries  upon  Fort 
Sumter  in  Charleston  harbor.1'  And  now  all  the  energies  of 
Mr.  Kennedy  were  devoted  to  the  successful  prosecution  of  the 
war  for  the  Union  and  all  his  sympathies  to  the  mitigation  of 
its  inevitable  evils.  His  native  city  became  the  earliest  scene 
of  sanguinary  events  and  social  proscription ;  and,  during  all 
the  years  of  the  conflict,  he  maintained  his  civic  integrity  with 
out  the  least  diminution  of  kindness  to  friend  or  foe.  His  ac 
tivity  and  usefulness  are  indicated  in  his  journal : 

April  1 6,  1 86 1. — Governor  Hicks  is  in  town.  I  advise  him 
to  write  a  letter  to  the  President  to  say  that  he  can  cheerfully 
tender  the  quota  of  the  State  to  protect  the  Capital  against  in 
vasion. 

April  19. — About  noon  a  detachment  of  troops  came  into 
town,  by  the  Philadelphia  train ;  and  in  passing  from  one  sta 
tion  to  the  other,  the  track  was  obstructed  and  a  fierce  and  ex 
cited  mob  attacked  the  soldiers  in  the  car  with  heavy  stones. 
The  troops  undertook  to  cut  their  way  through  to  Camden 
Street ;  a  furious  fight  ensued,  and  about  half  of  the  troops  got 
through.  The  Mayor  promised  that  if  any  route  for  the. passage 
of  troops,  without  going  through  Baltimore,  be  practicable,  the 
city  should  be  avoided.  I  tell  the  people  that  this  refusal  of 
a  right  of  transit,  will  arouse  the  whole  North  and  invite  an 
attack  upon  the  city. 

April  25th. — Thousands  of  reports  flying.  The  secession 
ists  of  this  State  are  growing  moderate,  and  everybody  seems 
to  think  that  Maryland  is  helpless  if  invaded ;  the  Northern 
people  breathe  fire  and  vengeance  against  Baltimore."  What 
a  sudden  and  complete  change  had  thus  come  over  the  peace- . 
ful,  prosperous  and  social  life  of  his  native  city !  Martial 
law  was  soon  declared ;  the  cannon  of  Fort  McHenry  where, 
as  a  youth,  he  had  served  with  his  fellow-citizens  in  de 
fence  of  their  homes,  against  a  foreign  invasion,  were  now 
turned  toward  Baltimore  instead  of  the  sea ;  Federal  Hill  was 
crowned  with  ramparts,  barracks  and  heavy  guns  ;  instead  of 
friendly  visits  to  old  friends,  his  mornings  were  often  passed 
14 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

in  conference  with  the  Union  general  in  command,  to  urge 
lenity  towards  some  insulting  rebel ;  to  suggest  the  mitigation 
of  some  severe  order;  or  co-operating  in  some  subscription 
or  correspondence  in  aid  of  the  National  cause.  His  letters 
now  were  frequent  and  varied ;  one  day  he  writes  to  General 
McClellan  to  secure  a  free  passage  for  some  unfortunate 
Southern  family ;  another  he  replies  to  an  English  friend  who 
seeks  information  about  the  war ;  or  he  indites  a  long  and 
cheering  epistle  to  his  beleaguered  kindred  in  Virginia,  or  a 
suggestive  one  to  an  old  Congressional  friend,  with  some  plan 
for  ameliorating  the  suffering  of  captives,  or  vindicating  a  loyal 
Southerner.  Sometimes,  in  the  midst  of  his  sad  record,  flash 
es  of  his  native  pleasantry  brighten  the  page.  He  notes,  with 
good-humor,  the  fact  that,  when  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty 
as  Provost  of  the  University,  he  distributed  Diplomas,  the  fe 
males  present — they  could  hardly  be  called  ladies — hissed  and 
threw  bouquets,  composed  so  as  to  bear  the  rebel  colors, 
upon  the  stage.  He  mentions  passing  in  the  street  a  life 
long  friend,  who  turned  his  eyes  away  to  avoid  a  salutation  ; 
and  being  at  divine  service,  when  several  of  the  congregation 
rise  from  their  knees  as  the  prayer  for  the  President  is  read. 
To  a  noble  mind  these  evidences  of  spite  are  simply  disgust 
ing  ;  and  the  severe  measures  they  induce  amuse  him. 

"  Schenck,"  he  writes,  "  is  producing  a  terrible  flutter  of 
crinoline  in  the  neighborhood,  and  is  regarded  as  the  Danton 
and  Haynau  of  the  age.  He  even  forbids  the  birds  to  sing 
1  My  Maryland,'  a  tyranny  which  has  turned  all  the  crotchets 
into  demi-semi-quavers." 

While  Mr.  Kennedy's  few  Union  friends  in  Baltimore  took 
counsel  with  him  in  behalf  of  the  National  cause,  his  rebel  rel 
atives  and  acquaintances  constantly  availed  themselves  of  his 
intercession.  Now  a  young  lady  comes  flying  on  her  favorite 
horse,  from  her  manorial  home  leagues  away,  to  beg  his  influ 
ence  to  save  her  live-stock  from  seizure  ;  and  now  comes  a  let 
ter  of  thanks  from  Fort  Delaware  or  Fort  Warren,  written  by 
a  released  prisoner  in  whose  behalf  Mr.  Kennedy  has  success- 


DURING   THE   REBELLION.  315 

fully  wrought ;  or  an  appeal  from  the  Relay  House,  addressed 
to  "  my  clear  protector."  He  solicits  employment  for  deserving 
and  needy  persons  ;  he  gives  details  of  many  interesting  inter 
views  with  the  prominent  actors  in  the  exciting  scenes  of  the 
struggle  ;  he  carefully  states  all  the  circumstances  of  every  im 
portant  battle  of  the  war  ;  sketches  the  character  of  the  officers, 
narrates  the  whole  course,  consequence  and  rationale  of  the 
Mason  and  Slidell  capture  ;  and  dwells,  with  pathetic  emphasis, 
on  the  assassination  of" Lincoln  ;  personal  and  local  experience 
and  judicial  comment  giving  to  the  record  a  unity  which  makes 
it  full  of  vital  significance.  He  sustains  the  baffled  clergyman 
whose  loyalty  brings  on  him  contemptuous  treatment  even  in 
the  performance  of  holy  duties ;  he  visits  and  ministers  to  the 
wretched  Union  prisoners  landed  at  Annapolis;  he  pleads 
with  the  authorities  for  the  widow  of  old  General  Winder,  under 
whom  he  served  in  1814;  he  rejoices  that  his  young  cousin, 
Harry  Pendleton,  comes  safely  and  bravely  out  of  the  Fort 
Fisher  fight;  and  he  bids  "God  speed"  the  gallant  Porter, 
who  goes  forth  with  a  smile  to  die  at  the  battle  of  the  Wil 
derness. 

The  alternate  triumph  and  despondency,  victory  and  de 
feat,  through  which  we  passed  during  those  long,  sad,  memora 
ble  years,  are  renewed  as  they  pass  through  so  candid  a  mind 
and  true  a  heart  as  his  ;  who  solaced  his  isolation  and  calmed 
his  impatience  by  this  chronicle  and  commentary :  from  which 
the  following  extracts  are  taken  at  random : 

Baltimore,  May  16,  1861.— I  have  frequently  heard  it  inti 
mated  of  late  that  there  is  a  desire  on  the  part  of  many  leading 
men  that  I  should  receive  and  accept  a  nomination  as  candi 
date  for  Congress  in  the  election  which  is  to  be  held  on  the 
i3th  of  next  month.  The  extra  session  is  to  be  held  on  the 
fourth  of  July.  I  have  discouraged  the  project  of  re-nominating 
me,— being  very  unwilling  to  go  back  to  public  life.  The 
grounds  upon  which  I  am  solicited  to  accept  are,  that  my  re 
tirement  for  some  years  past  has  separated  me  from  the  influ 
ence  of  parties,  and  gives  more  weight  to  my  position  in  this 


316  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

crisis, — that  my  views  are  highly  approved  by  the  Union  men 
everywhere, — that  I  have  something  of  a  national  reputation 
which  would  be  favorable  to  the  interests  of  this  State,  and 
above  all,  that  my  coming  into  the  canvass  would  be  likely  to 
unite  all  interests  opposed  to  secession  in  a  combined  effort 
to  place  the  city  on  the  Union  side. 

Baltimore,  May  18,  1861.  —  I  drive  to  Meredith's,  in 
Franklin  Street,  and  take  him  in  my  carriage  to  Fort  McHen- 
ry  to  call  on  General  Cadwalader.  We  are  admitted,  and  sit 
with  him  an  hour.  He  talks  very  sensibly  of  his  purposes  here 
in  command  of  the  city,  expressing  a  determination  to  interfere 
as  little  as  possible  with  the  civil  authorities,  and  to  take  every 
precaution  against  unnecessary  offence  to  our  people.  He  has 
full  powers  given  to  him  for  military  control.  He  thinks  the 
war  will  last  for  some  time.  He  told  us  that  Baltimore,  after 
the  mob  of  the  iQth  of  April,  was  in  imminent  danger  of  de 
struction, — which  the  happy  change  in  the  temper  of  the  dis 
turbers,  and  the  revelation  of  the  strength  of  the  Union  sen 
timent  in  Maryland  and  Baltimore,  only  averted. 

Washington,  May  30, 1861. — Calvert  and  I  call  on  General 
Scott,  at  headquarters,  where  we  are  kindly  admitted,  and  have 
a  half  hour's  talk  with  him.  The  general,  who  is  now  about 
seventy-four,  seems  to  be  as  active  in  mind  as  in  youth,  though 
physically,  he  shows  age.  He  discourses  very  freely  upon  his 
projected  campaign.  He  says  that  he  is  annoyed  by  the  impa 
tience  of  the  public  in  regard  to  active  operations.  "  I  tell  Mr. 
Lincoln,"  says  he,  "  that  there  are  three  sinews  of  war, — men, 
money  and  patience, — that  if  we  pursue  the  system  of  the  cam 
paign  I  have  laid  out,  we  shall  close  the  war  on  the  first  of  May 
next ;  that  if  we  yield  to  the  advice  of  those  who  wish  to  hurry 
matters,  we  shall  find  the  war  on  that  day  (the  ist  of  May)  as 
good  as  new.  We  save  money  and  men  both  by  proceeding 
carefully."  He  expresses  himself  very  confidently  of  the  issue. 
He  says  that  "  with  our  means  in  men  and  money,  success  is 
mathematically  certain,  and  may  be  achieved  with  no  great 
amount  of  bloodshed."  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  have  a  great  objection 


DURING    THE    REBELLION.  317 

to  wasting  shoe  leather.  Shoe  leather  is  a  great  element  in 
war.  Useless  marches  injure  the  men.  I  do  not  play  for  small 
stakes,  and,  therefore  do  not  encourage  assaults  that  do  not 
advance  the  war.  I  look  to  New  Orleans.  We  must  wait  till 
the  season  of  malignant  fever  is  past  and  when  the  waters  are 
high,  and  I  shall  then  establish  a  cordon  of  posts  down  the 
Mississippi  which  will  effectually  control  that  region." 

Among  other  things,  he  said  he  objected  to  mere  annoy 
ances  of  the  enemy.  It  is  useless  to  make  small  incisions 
which  fret  and  exasperate  the  country  and  produce  fever  in 
the  public  mind,  but  which  do  not  tend  to  the  advantage  of 
the  campaign. 

His  plan  I  infer  to  be  to  get  complete  possession  of  the  line 
of  the  Potomac  from  the  ocean  to  the  Ohio,— which  may  re 
quire  an  early  attack  on  Harper's  Ferry,  where  there  are  some 
ten  thousand  troops ;  and  may  also  make  it  necessary  to  take 
Norfolk.  He  will  then  form  a  second  line,  more  advanced  and 
parallel  to  that,  and  so  encircle  Richmond.  By  advances  of  this 
character  we  may  finally  comprehend  the  chief  points  of  the 
whole  South,  and  by  making  these  movements  with  overwhelm 
ing  numbers,  as  he  has  the  power  to  do,  may  save  bloodshed. 

Washington,  Thursday,  July  4,  1861. — Great  booming  of 
guns  at  daylight.  I  wake  up  with  some  idea  that  Btauregard  has 
attacked  the  Union  lines  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Many 
persons  had  an  impression  that  it  was  his  design  to  do  so  to 
day,  and  if  possible  interrupt  the  assembling  of  Congress. 
His  force  is  said  to  be  50,000  men,  and  their  position  but  a 
few  miles  apart  from  ours.  The  Union  army  on  that  side  of 
the  river  must  be  at  least  30,000,  with  as  many  more  encamped 
on  this  side. 

It  is  a  pleasant  morning,  and  I  am  up  at  seven.  The  cannon 
ade  is  a  salute  of  the  day  from  the  several  batteries  across  the 
river.  No  attack  from  Beauregard.  At  eight  o'clock  I  witness 
the  New  York  regiments  wheeling  into  the  Avenue,  as  they 
come  from  a  review  in  front  of  the  White  House,  by  the  Pres 
ident  and  General  Scott.  They  march  up  the  Avenue  towards 


318  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

the  Capitol  in  platoons  of  thirty,  and  take  upwards  of  an  hour 
to  pass.  There  are  twenty-three  regiments  and  upwards  of 
twenty  thousand  men.  The  whole  of  these  troops  are  excellent 
— some  of  the  regiments  remarkably  fine.  At  twelve,  to  the 
Capitol  to  see  the  opening  of  Congress.  Here  I  meet  in  the 
House  of  Representatives,  Wm.  Appleton,  and  other  acquaint 
ances.  Stay  till  the  speaker — Grow,  of  Pennsylvania, — is  elect 
ed.  Before  going  to  the  Capitol  this  morning,  and  just  after  the 
review,  I  call  upon  Reverdy  Johnson  by  appointment,  and  he 
and  I  go  to  see  the  President.  The  room  is  empty  when  we 
enter  it  and  we  wait  until  Mr.  Lincoln  comes  in.  Presently  he 
arrives  with  Mr.  Seward,  the  Secretary  of  State.  Mr.  Welles 
also,  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy  comes  in.  This  is  the  first 
time  I  have  seen  Mr.  Lincoln.  Johnson  introduces  me.  His 
reception  is  cordial,  but  brusque.  He  is  a  much  better  looking 
man  than  I  expected  to  see;  the  portraits,  I  think  misrepresent 
him,  or  his  short  experience  in  the  White  House  has  improved 
his  looks.  Our  business  was  to  talk  with  him  about  the  pris 
oners, — the  Police  Commissioners, — and  to  urge  upon  him  the 
propriety  of  ordering  their  release.  He  heard  us  with  great 
good  will,  spoke  simply  on  the  subject,  and  said  he  would 
bring  it  into  a  Cabinet  consultation,  which  he  immediately  re 
quested  Mr.  Seward  to  arrange  for  three  o'clock  to-day,  and  sug 
gested  to  Johnson  and  myself  that  we  had  better  talk  to  some 
of  the  Cabinet  before  the  meeting  and  give  them  our  views. 

Patapsco,  Tuesday,  Sept  10,  1861. — The  weather  is  cool 
and  clear  ;  the  verdure  of  the  country  as  fresh  as  Spring ;  every 
thing  around  us  is  full  of  the  beauty  of  an  abundant  year. 
The  only  subject  of  sorrow  is  this  awful  war  that  now  rages 
over  some  of  the  fairest  regions  of  the  country.  It  is  said  that 
more  than  one  hundred  thousand  men  occupy  the  National 
camps  around  Washington;  that  McClellan's  lines  of  defence 
are  very  strong,  and  that  he  is  entirely  confident  of  the  security 
of  the  Capitol ;  that  Banks's  division  on  the  Potomac,  above 
Washington,  amounts  to  some  thirty  thousand — and  that  but 
little  less  than  this  number  of  troops  are  gathered  at  Fortress 


DURING    THE    REBELLION.  319 

Monroe.  General  Dix  holds  Baltimore  with  some  ten  thou 
sand.  The  regiment  of  Zouaves, — formerly  Duryea's — are  for 
tifying  Federal  Hill.  On  the  Confederate  side,  it  is  estimated 
that  Beauregard  and  Johnson  have  opposite  Washington  and 
along  the  Potomac  as  far  as  Leesburg,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  men.  The  two  armies  have  been  for  some  weeks 
past  but  a  few  miles  apart— both  strongly  intrenched.  We  have 
daily  reports  of  reconnoissances,  skirmishes  and  cannonades. 
Many  think  a  great  battle  imminent.  In  fact  war  rages  over 
several  States,  and  its  exasperations  are  beginning  to  produce 
the  usual  afflictions  not  only  to  the  combatants,  but  to  the 
quiet  and  unoffending  families,  who  are  unhappily  within  its 
sweep.  The  newspapers  report  the  arrest  of  my  kinsman,  Ed 
mund  Pendleton  and  John  Strother,  in  Martinsburg,  as  civilians 
who  have  refused  to  abandon  their  attachment  to  the  Union. 
On  both  sides  we  hear  of  the  arrests  of  disaffected  citizens. 
It  is  quite  manifest  that  here  in  Maryland  we  are  only  saved 
from  the  outbreak  of  civil  conflict  by  the  presence  of  the  great 
force  which  now  keeps  the  peace  of  the  State. 

These  are  sad  realities  which  no  man  could  have  believed 
possible  in  this  once  happy  land,  until  the  current  of  revolution 
hacTdriven  them  upon  us.  I  can  only  look  on  and  grieve,  and 
wait  for  the  day  when  in  some  lull  of  the  storm  of  passion, 
I  may  find  an  occasion  to  speak  a  word  for  the  restoration  of 
harmony,  and  the  reconstruction  of  our  broken  Union.  At  pres 
ent  both  parties  have  appealed  to  the  arbitrament  of  the 
sword,  and  it  is  vain  to  hope  for  that  calm  judgment  on  the 
errors  and  crimes  which  have  brought  us  to  this  deep  disgrace, 
and  which  shall  recall  the  nation  to  its  duty,  until  another  tri 
al  of  strength  shall  determine  the  predominant  power  that  may 
control  the  events  of  the  future. 

Patapsco,  Friday,  Oct.  25,  1861.— My  birthday,  sixty- six  ! 
I  have  renewed  motives  for  gratitude  to  the  merciful  God  who 
has  directed  my  destiny  in  life,  for  the  continuation  of  many 
blessings, — chief  among  which  is  a  clear  conscience,  a  patient, 
contented  and  thankful  spirit,  and  an  unwavering  reliance  upon 


320  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

his  protection  and  support  in  all  the  difficulties  and  dangers 
which  surround  me, — well  assured  that  whatever  lot  is  assign 
ed  me,  is  that  appointed  by  a  beneficent  and  just  dispenser  of 
events — and  that  a  faithful  performance  of  duty  will  be  the 
most  acceptable  return  I  can  make  to  Him. 

I  am  still  associated  with  the  friends  I  love,  and  feel  an 
earnest  pride  in  the  conviction  that  those  nearest  and  dearest 
to  me  have  maintained  a  steadfast  loyalty  to  the  country  in 
these  darkest  hours  of  trial,  and  have  resisted  both  the  threats 
and  the  persuasions  of  the  rash  and  intemperate,  the  inconsid 
erate  and  the  wicked  men,  who  have  brought  our  once  happy 
country  into  this  extraordinary  and  insane  commotion. 

Baltimore,  Sunday,  Sept.  7,  1862. — Very  warm  day.  We 
have  the  carriage  about  half-past  ten  and  set  out  to  drive  to 
Patapsco.  Upon  reaching  the  hill  near  Fairview  Hotel,  three 
miles  out,  we  come  to  General  Wool  and  his  staff,  with  an  es 
cort  of  dragoons.  They  are  halting  in  the  wood  apparently  in 
consultation.  I  stop  to  inquire  of  the  general  if  there  is  any 
news.  He  tells  me  he  has  received  a  dispatch  this  morning 
that  Lee  had  entered  Frederick  City  at  daybreak  with  25,000 
men,  and  was  probably  on  his  march  to  Baltimore.  The  gen 
eral  is  making  an  observation  of  the  country  to  select  a  posi 
tion  for  defence  if  an  attack  should  be  contemplated.  It  is  un 
certain  if  Lee  means  to  march  upon  Baltimore,  or  to  cross 
into  Pennsylvania.  The  general  advises  me  not  to  remain  all 
night  at  our  place  at  Ellicott's  Mills,  but  to  come  back  to  town, 
as  there  is  some  risk  of  cavalry  raids  to-night  as  far  as  the 
Mills — there  being  no  troops  between  us  and  Frederick  to  in 
terfere  with  them.  I  determine  to  go  on  to  look  after  matters 
at  home  and  return  in  the  evening  to  our  residence  in  town. 
We  are  advised  by  the  general  and  his  officers  to  keep  a  good 
lookout  ahead  on  the  road,  and  if  we  should  see  signs  of  troops 
before  us  to  return  immediately.  We  go  on  ;  meet,  when  about 
six  or  seven  miles,  a  person  in  a  gray  blouse,  well  mounted — a 
good  rider,  apparently  unarmed  ; — about  a  mile  farther  another 
of  the  same  character  and  equipment, — the  latter  in  plain  dress, 


DUKING    THE    REBELLION.  321 

— both  moving  along  at  a  walk.  They  strike  us  very  strongly  as 
disguised  emissaries  from  the  rebel  army,  venturing  towards 
our  lines. 

At  our  place,  where  we  arrived  about  one,  we  make  prepa 
rations  for  our  return  to  Baltimore.  I  have  all  my  bonds  and 
other  valuable  papers  here,  which  I  determine  to  take  away. 
See  Mr.  Bone,  our  manager  at  the  factory,  and  tell  him  what 
I  have  heard,  and  direct  him  to  get  his  team  ready  and  have 
the  factory  goods,  of  which  we  have  some  twelve  or  fifteen 
thousand  dollars'  worth,  removed  to-night.  He  promised  to  do 
this,  and  we  set  off  on  our  return  about  four  o'clock.  Reach 
town  about  sundown.  Our  servants  also  come  in  one  of 
our  carriages ;  some  trunks  and  other  baggage  are  sent  in  a 
cart ;  the  weather  is  very  warm. 

Baltimore,  Saturday,  Oct.  25,  1862. — Splendid  weather. 
This  is  my  birthday,  6;th.  It  finds  me  still  happy ;  in  good 
friends,  in  good  health  and  good  fortune — thankful  for  the 
abundant  favors  I  have  received  from  my  Creator,  and  patient 
ly  and  cheerfully  awaiting  for  that  future  which  he  has  allotted 
to  me.  I  especially  thank  him  that  in  this  dreadfyl  civil  war 
which  now  rends  our  sorrowful  country,  he  has  given  me  the 
grace  to  preserve  my  faith  to  the  Government  under  which  I 
have  received  so  many  blessings,  and  to  maintain  my  loyalty 
amid  the  bitter  assaults  which  a  wide  pervading  treason  is 
making  against  it ;  amid  the  threats  which  constantly  assail 
me,  and  the  alienation  of  friends  which  it  has  compelled  me  to 
encounter.  I  acknowledge  no  higher  duty,  here  on  earth,  than 
that  of  meeting  courageously  every  sacrifice  which  power  or 
fortune  may  exact  of  me  in  the  endeavor  to  preserve  the  Union 
and  defend  the  Constitution. 

June  30,  1863. — The  alarm  last  night  was  occasioned  by  a 
cavalry  skirmish  near  Westminster,  in  which  a  small  party  of 
Delaware  horse  was  driven  in  with  some  loss  of  killed  and 
prisoners,  by  a  detachment  of  Stuart's  cavalry,  on  a  raid  from 
the  Potomac,  from  which  they  were  seeking  their  way  to  Ewell 
at  York.  The  alarm  was  propagated  by  signal,  which  imported 

I  A* 


322  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

that  the  enemy  was  galloping  towards  Baltimore.  The  effect 
here  was  good  in  showing  the  alacrity  of  the  new  levy  of  citi 
zens  who  rushed  to  their  posts, — some  five  thousand, — and, 
with  the  well  disciplined  troops  here,  make  up  quite  a  respect 
able  army.  To-day  Schenck  issues  a  proclamation  of  martial 
law  over  the  city  and  county  and  the  rest  of  the  western 
shore.  Meade  takes  command  of  the  army  with  a  modest  and 
soldier-like  address  ;  and  has,  it  is  said,  already  made  some  im 
portant  moves  which  are  shown  in  restoring  the  communica 
tion  with  Frederick  and  Harper's  Ferry,  and  clearing  the 
country  alo'ng  the  Potomac  of  the  light  troops  of  the  enemy 
who  have  been  doing  mischief  there. 

July  i,  1863. — The  town  is  very  grave  and  anxious.  We 
all  feel  that  a  great  crisis  is  at  hand. 

July  4. — General  Schenck  has  issued  a  request  to  all  loyal 
citizens  to  display  the  national  flag  to-day.  It  is  very  odd  to 
see  that  there  is  almost  a  universal  exhibition  of  the  stars  and 
stripes.  They  are  flying  from  almost  every  secession  residence 
within  my  view.  A  wonderful  increase  of  loyalty  to-day  ! 

Sharon,  Aug.  4,  1863. — In  conversation  with  -  -  the  other 
day,  he  told  me  a  secret  of  the  secession  conspiracy,  of  which 
I  had  heard  something  before.  About  a  year  ago,  he  was 

driving  with and  another  gentleman,  Mr. -,  whose  name 

I  now  forget.     The  three  were  alone.  -  is  a  peace  demo 

crat,  in  fact  a  secessionist.  He  told  his  companion  that  in  the 
summer  of  1861  he  received  a  letter  from  Slidell  which  gave 
him  a  programme  of  the  course  which  the  conspirators  of  the 
South  had  laid  down  in  the  beginning  of  the  rebellion.  It  was 
in  substance  this.  Immediately  after  the  secession  ordinance 
was  passed  by  South  Carolina,  Alabama,  Georgia  and  other 
Cotton  States,  while  Congress  was  in  session,  and  before  the 
election  of  Lincoln  was  declared,  or  before  the  inauguration, 
they  were  to  seize  Washington,  for  which  they  had  made  pro 
vision.  Buchanan,  the  President,  was  to  be  compelled  to  re 
sign.  Breckenridge,  the  Vice-President,  was  to  take  his  place. 
The  New  England  senators  were  to  be  driven  away,  and  the 


DURING   THE   REBELLION.  323 

revolution  was  to  be  proclaimed,  and  the  provisional  govern 
ment  to  be  sustained  by  the  secession  majority  in  Congress 
and  by  the  force  collected  at  Washington.  They  were  then  to 
call  a  convention  of  the  States  which  might  be  willing  to  unite, 
form  a  new  Constitution  suited  to  the  demands  of  the  South, 
reduce  the  Senatorial  representation  of  the  small  States,  and 
when  the  fundamental  law  was  then  constructed  in  accordance 
vrtth  their  plan  of  Southern  supremacy,  to  allow  the  States  ex 
cluded  by  the  original  movement  to  come  into  the  Union  re 
modeled  by  this  process.  SlidelFs  letter,  -  -  said,  as  explain 
ed  by ,  contained  many  details  of  the  scheme  which  he 

did  not  repeat  to  me,  and  it  affirmed  that  the  scheme  was  frus 
trated  by  the  obstinacy  of  Governor  Hicks,  of  Maryland,  who 
prevented  the  attempt  to  force  our  State  into  secession  by  re 
fusing  to  call  the  Legislature  into  extra  session  before  the  in 
auguration  of  Lincoln.  This  was  the  import  of  -  —  's  commu 
nication  to  me,  which  was  suggested  by  a  conversation  in 
which  I  was  narrating  the  endeavors  of  the  conspirators  in 
Maryland  to  force  Hicks  to  convene  the  Legislature. 

Newport,  Sept.  18,  1863. — Mr.  -  -  has  given  me  a  letter 
to  read  from  a  friend  at  Natchez  to  him,  on  the  condition  of 
things  in  that  quarter.  He  says,  "  I  would  rather  live  on  the 
confines  of  hell  itself,  than  among  secessionists  in  this  Con 
federacy,  for  I  hate  them  one  and  all,  men,  women  and  chil 
dren,  with  a  bitter  and  everlasting  hatred.  I  have  told  seces 
sionists  here  if  they  would  replace  the  cotton  (his  own  raising) 
burnt  by  Confederate  authority,  I  would  make  a  deed  of  gift 
to  the  Confederacy  of  all  I  now  claim  south  of  Mason  and  Dix- 
on's  Line."  He  said  in  a  previous  part  of  the  letter,  "  on  mak 
ing  an  estimate  of  my  assets  in  January,  1861,  I  thought  I  was 
worth  $  1,300,000.  I  would  now  gladly  accept  an  offer  of  one- 
twentieth  of  that  sum  in  good  funds."  After  stating  the  sad 
havoc  made  by  the  war  in  Mississippi  by  the  bad  treatment  of 
both  parties,  he  says  :  "  But  there  has  nothing  happened  that 
I  did  not  predict  would  be  the  result  of  secession.  We  are  a 
ruined  and  degraded  people,  and  by  whom  ?  By  such  men  as 


2:  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

John  Slidell,  Jeff  Davis,  Wm.  L.  Yancey  et  id  omne  genus.  Sli- 
dell  is  more  to  blame  for  it  than  all  the  rest.  Secession  was 
in  its  origin  bad  enough,  but  he  who  would  be  a  secessionist 
now,  after  witnessing  its  result,  must  be  a  fool,  a  knave  or  a 
madman.  On  this  point  there  can  be  but  one  opinion,  and  I 
am  free  to  admit  that  we  richly  deserve  our  fate,  for  submitting 
to  the  dictation  of  selfish  demagogues,  unprincipled  politicians 
and  ambitious  aspirants  for  political  honors.  These  sentiments 
I  have  openly  and  at  all  times  proclaimed,  and  have  never 
sought  to  conceal  or  suppress  them.  I  have  been  a  firm,  con 
sistent,  unwavering  and  unfaltering  lover  of  the  Union,  and  yet 
I  have  suffered  to  a  greater  extent  in  property  than  the  maddest 
secessionist." 

He  then  adds.  "  For  the  support  of  Mrs. and  myself, 

I  can  see  my  way  clear  enough,  but  I  have  eight  granddaugh 
ters  and  two  grandsons,  and  they  must  be  supported  from  my 
means.  My  sons  must  support  themselves." 

"  A  secessionist  asked  me  yesterday  what  I  meant  to  do 
after  I  left  (he  had  announced  his  purpose  of  quitting  the  coun 
try  and  going  North),  and  how  I  expected  to  live.  I  told  him 
I  had  the  choice  of  two  situations, — one,  abrakeman  on  a  rail 
road  train,  the  other  a  toll -keeper  at  a  turnpike  gate,  and  I  had 
not  yet  made  up  my  mind  which  I  would  take !  !  !" 

This  is  the  letter  of  an  old  gentleman  upwards  of  seventy, 
— a  moderate,  intelligent  and  upright  man,  and  one  of  the  most 
influential  citizens  of  the  South. 

New  York,  Oct.  19,  1863. — and have  all 

come  here  manifestly  for  mere  enjoyment.  Strange  that  these 
people,  who  are  always  talking  about  the  "  cursed  Yankees," 
and  profess  eternal  hatred  to  every  thing  "  North,"  and  who 
have  so  often  vowed  that  they  would  never  set  their  feet  on  this 
side  of  Maryland,  should  have  the  face  to  be  crowding  into  this 
region,  as  so  many  have  been  doing  all  summer. 

Baltimore,  Jan.  8, 1864. — Colonel  David  Strother  calls  on 
me,  on  his  way  from  Washington  to  Cumberland,  where  he  be 
longs  to  Kelly's  staff.  He  is  very  instructive  in  his  accounts 


DURING    THE    REBELLION.  325 

of  the  war,  of  which  he  has  seen  so  much,  and  of  which  he  tells 
me  he  has  kept  a  fdll  diary  ever  since  he  entered  the  service. 

Baltimore,  Nov.  28,  1864 — Fine  day.  Professor  Goldwin 
Smith  is  to  go  this  evening  to  Philadelphia  by  the  half-past  four 
train.  We  set  out  by  eleven  and  drive  to  Janes's  Hospital,  and 
here  we  are  shown  over  the  whole  establishment.  We  see  the 
poor  fellows  who  have  just  arrived — -some  two  hundred  and 
fifty  who  were  sent  forward  from  Annapolis,  where  many  more 
of  them  now  are.  These  are  the  strongest  and  most  capable  of 
being  moved — those  left  behind  are  too  weak  to  be  exposed  to 
the  journey.  We  examine  several  of  these  men,  picking  out  the 
most  intelligent,  and  the  story  of  their  sufferings  is  invariably 
the  same.  The  worst  accounts,  as  seen  in  the  papers,  are  not 
more  heart-rending  than  the  stories  these  men  give  us  ; — scant 
food,  of  the  most  revolting  kind — filthy  water — no  shelter  from 
sun  or  rain — no  covering- — generally  robbed  of  their  clothing, 
— always  of  their  money — and  the  sick  and  well  equally  de 
serted  and  oppressed.  Nothing  within  the  boundaries  of  civ 
ilization  has  ever  surpassed  the  barbarity  towards  these  pris 
oners, — the  deaths  at  Andersonville  were  one  hundred  a  day. 
These  men  are  so  attenuated  that  the  Professor  enclosed  the  • 
arm  of  one  of  them,  above  the  elbow,  in  the  ring  of  his  finger 
and  thumb.  We  left  this  horrid  scene  after  an  hour  or  more, 
and  came  to  town." 

"  The  following  is  the  statement  of  old  Mr.  Kidwell,  of  Bath, 
Berkeley  Springs : 

One  beautiful  summer  morning,  my  son  Isaac,  aged  nineteen, 
and  myself,  were  out  cradling  wheat,  when  up  rides  a  soldier 
and  says, — "  I  command  that  young  man  to  lay  down  his  cra 
dle  and  follow  me  to  Winchester,  at  the  call  of  his  country." 
— •'  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  who  gives  you  the  authority  to  come 
and  force  my  son  off?" — "  Colonel  Johnson,"  said  he.  With 
that,  I  exclaimed,  "You  are  all  a  set  of  rebels ;  you  hung  John 
Brown  for  fighting  against  our  country,  now  in  my  soul,  I  be 
lieve  he  was  crazy  ;  but  you  are  all  a  set  of  rascals  and  rebels, 
and  deserve  to  be  hung  far  more  than  John  Brown." — "  If  you 
don't  hold  your  tongue,  said  he,  I'll  bind  you  hand  and  footj 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

and  take  you  to  Puchmond  ;"  with  that  he  gave  a  whoop,  and 
up  run  five  or  six  soldiers,  that  had  been  hid  in  the  bushes, 
and  they  bound  Isaac  and  led  him  off — he  poor  boy  !  so  un 
willing  to  go.  Oh  !  it  was  hard,  and  with  tears  streaming  down 
my  face  I  could  only  exclaim,  O  Heavens,  give  me  power ! 

About  two  weeks  after  this,  being  in  the  town  of  Bath,  a 
friend  came  to  me  and  said,  "  Kidwell,  I  am  just  from  Winches 
ter,  your  son  is  very  ill  in  the  Hour  Hospital,  and  you  had  bet 
ter  go  to  him."  "  Friend  Willard,"  said  I,  "  it  is  impossible,  I 
have  but  forty  cents."  "Here,"  said  he,  "is  my  pocket-book, 
take  what  you  want — fifteen,  twenty,  or  thirty  dollars — "  (can 
I  ever  forget  that  noble  fellow  ?)  but  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  five 
dollars  was  quite  enough  for  me — so  off  I  started  to  Winchester, 
and  about  dark,  rode  up  to  the  Hour  Hospital.  In  one  room 
were  four  doctors  playing  cards.  "  Can  you  tell  me,"  said  I,  "  if 
a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Kidwell  is  here  ?" — "  He  is  not 
here,"  said  one  of  the  doctors  ;  "but,  said  I,  he  must  be  here,  I 
was  told  to  come  here ;"  turning  to  a  soldier,  one  of  the  other 
doctors  said,  "  Go  and  see" — after  awhile  the  soldier  came  back 
and  said ;  "  There  is  no  one  of  that  name  here ;"  just  then,  a  half- 
drunken  soldier  said,  "  Look  in  No.  Six,  there  was  a  man  put  in 
there  .some  clays  ago."  Jerking  up  a  candle,  I  followed  the  fel 
low  to  No.  Six,  he  unlocked  the  door,  and  there  lay  a  man  ; 
holding  the  candle  close  down  to  his  face,  I  saw  my  son,  my 
dear  son  Isaac.  "  Oh  !  Father,"  said  he,  whispering,  for  he 
could  hardly  speak,  "  I'm  so  glad  you  have  come — give  me  wa 
ter."  Holding  the  pitcher  to  his  mouth,  parched  and  dry  as  a 
bone,  he  took  a  long  drink,  and  said,  "  Oh,  how  good  !" — "  My 
son, "said  I,  "what  have  they  done  for  you?" — "Nothing,  Fath 
er,"  said  he  whispering,  "  no  one  has  been  near  me  for  three 
days  !" — "  Isaac,  why  did  they  not  let  you  come  home,  when 
you  were  first  taken  sick?" — "Oh,  Father !"  said  he  whispering, 
"  they  said  you  were  a  d —  Union  man,  and  if  I  once  got  away 
I'd  never  come  back."  And  so  my  poor  child,  my  only  son, 
died,  and  I  buried  him — and  now  I  am  broken-hearted." 

Meantime,  while  Mr.  Kennedy's  public  spirit  found  such 


DURING    THE    REBELLION.  327 

benign  scope,  his  private  feelings  were  anxiously  excited  by  the 
precarious  situation  of  his  kindred  in  Virginia.      Martinsburg 
and  its  vicinity  were  constantly  threatened  and  alternately  in 
the  hands  of  the  enemy  and  the  national  troops  ;  the  lands 
were  ravaged,  the  provisions  carried  off,  and  the  households 
kept  in  a  perpetual  state  of  alarm  by   forays    and   fighting. 
Sometimes  his  relatives,  even  the  most  disloyal,  were  fugitives 
at  his  threshold  ;  and  at  others,  he  was  busy  in  devising  means 
to  send  them  relief;   they  were  often  on  short  rations;  and 
for  weeks  together  no  communication  was  practicable.     Yet 
all  was  not  disheartening  in  the  news  which  from  time  to  time 
reached  him.     His  brave  old  uncle  was  true  as  steel  to  the 
cause  and  the  country.     "  My  dear  John,"  he  writes  at  the  out 
break  of  the  struggle,  "  I  had  not  read  through  the  first  para 
graph  of  '  Friends  of  the  Union  to  the  Rescue,'  in  my  Intel 
ligencer,  when  the  surmise  of  its   authorship  occurred  to  me. 
The  surmise  became  conviction  before  I  reached  the  bottom 
of  the  first  column  ;  and  I  read  the  rest  of  the  article  with  an 
interest  and  an  eagerness  which  I  leave  you  to  imagine.     As 
Gibbon  said  of  Burke's  Reflections,  so  I  say  of '  Maryland,'— 
'  I  admire  his  eloquence,  I  approve  his  politics,  I  adore  his 
devotion,  to — the  Union.'  "     Like  so  many  other  aged  and  pure 
patriots,— the  venerable  Philip  Pendleton  suffered  in  his  vital 
ity  not  less  than  his  fortunes  by  the  war  ;  its  anxieties  and  ag 
itations  told  upon  his  stalwart  frame,  and  shortened  his  days, 
despite  the  cheerful  temper  and  the  philosophic  serenity  which 
distinguished  him.     In  the  spring  of  1861,  he  writes  to  his 
nephew  :  "  The  gloom  of  old  age  alone  is  bad  enough,  but  it 
is  the  course  of  nature  ;  it  is  terrific  to  have  added  to  it  the  ruin 
of  one's  country  and  the  impairing  of  all  reliance  upon  man 
kind."     After  reading  Mr.  Kennedy's  tracts  on  the  duty  of  the 
Border  States  and  that  entitled  "  The  Great  Drama,"  he  writes  : 
"  I  cannot  express  the  fulness  of  my  approbation  and  admira 
tion.     I  am  looking  with  increased  eagerness  to  getting,  as 
soon  as  possible,  to  some  place  whence,  from  the  '  loop-hole 
of  retreat,'  to  peep  at  such  a  world"— alluding  to  the  state  of 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

things  around  him,  which  he  describes  as  "  disgusting  and  con 
temptible  to  the  last  degree  ;  foolery  is  in  the  ascendant,  and 
in  my  judgment,  only  to  be  got  rid  of  by  the  ultima  ratio." 
The  disloyalty  of  his  kindred  and  the  loss  of  his  property 
doubtless  hastened  an  attack  of  paralysis  ;  from  1863  he  had 
to  employ  an  amanuensis.  His  nephew  continued  to  send  him 
epistolary  cheer  to  the  last ;  as  in  the  following  : 

BALTIMORE,  March  30th,  1863. 
To  PHILIP  PENDLETON,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  UNCLE  : — M.  and  S.  are  to  go  to  Martinsburg  on 
Thursday,  and  will  take  this  letter  with  them.  Sally  has  been 
in  an  ecstasy  ever  since  the  holiday  loomed  upon  her  thoughts, 
and  will  enjoy  herself  for  the  ten  days  of  the  Easter  vacation 
like  an  enfranchised  school  girl.  She  and  Martha  will  tell  you 
all  that  goes  on  here  in  the  way  of  gossip.  As  to  our  graver 
concerns,  I  think  I  may  cheer  you  with  the  hope  that  this  terri 
ble  imbroglio  is  drawing  towards  its  end.  As  a  mere  fact  of 
history  we  might  predict  that  twenty-five  millions  of  people 
would  get  the  better  of  three  millions,  particularly  when  the 
larger  power  is  full  of  all  the  resources  of  war  and  the  smaller 
one  in  great  degree  destitute  of  them. 

My  belief  is  that  if  one  hundred  persons  were  out  of  the 
way,  the  South  would  be  glad  to  make  peace  now  by  returning 
to  the  Union.  I  have  no  faith  in  a  sensible  people  dying  in 
the  last  ditch,  and  as  little  in  the  declaration  that  the  Union 
has  no  friends  in  the  South.  Ask  any  man  from  that  region 
who  is  not  a  political  zealot,  what  he  is  fighting  for,  and  he  will 
cudgel  his  wits  a  long  time  to  give  an  answer.  I  tried  this 
upon  Y —  P — ,  and  I  think  he  was  a  full  half  hour  endeavoring 
to  explain  it  through  fifty  shifting  trials,  accompanied  with  con 
siderable  contortion  of  body  and  mind.  It  came-out  at  last  that 
he  was  fighting  for  the  Resolutions  of  '98.  I  told  him  I  thought 
that  was  it,  as  I  was  perfectly  sure  those  resolutions  would  some 
day  bring  him  into  trouble.  Then  I  asked  him  what  those 
resolutions  were.  He  replied  he  had  never  read  them,  but  if 


DURING    THE    REBELLION.  329 

I  had  heard 's  speech,  which  he  heard,  I  would  see  what  a 

capital  fight  could  be  made  on  them.     Well,  what  was 's 

view  ?  Why  he  couldn't  exactly  answer, 'but  it  fully  allowed  Vir 
ginia  to  make  a  fuss  if  she  wanted  it.  He  concluded  by  saying, 
"  You  ought  to  have  heard  him."  Now  this  I  think  is  about 
the  most  intelligible  declaration  of  Independence  I  have  yet  got 
from  any  of  the  champions  of  the  cause — and  so  I  make  it 
known  to  you  in  "  decent  respect  for  the  opinions  of  mankind," 
hoping  that  you  will  pass  it  round. 

A  Mrs. was  arrested  the  other  day,  and  a  letter  of  hers 

published  this  morning  in  the  American  and  Intelligencer,  which 
I  suppose  you  have  read.  She  there  reproves  the  zeal  of  a 
lady  friend  who  avows  that  she  took  the  oath  of  allegiance  only 
that  she  might  the  better  perpetrate  treason.  Does  it  not  oc 
cur  to  you  as  a  strange  development  of  human  character,  some 
thing  which  is  only  brought  out  in  such  a  convulsion  as  this, 
that  when  men  and  women  have  once  plunged  into  the  vortex 
of  such  an  overshadowing  crime  as  this  rebellion,  it  produces 
an  entire  new  view  of  all  other  crimes,  and  brings  them  to  be 
regarded  as  virtues  ?  After  that  plunge  there  is  no  sin  left. 
The  host  is  purified — in  their  own  estimation.  The  great  primal 
transgression  is  converted  into  a  great  merit,  and  all  the  sec 
ondary  transgressions  get  the  same  character.  I  heard  Schenck 
say  the  other  day,  that  in  his  experience  here,  he  had  arrived 
at  the  most  profound  conviction  upon  which  he  acts  every  day, 
that  no  woman  who  approaches  him — and  they  are  running  to 
him  all  the  time,  for  they  have  taken  the  surreptitious  business 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  men,  no  woman  implicated  in  the  rebel 
lion  or  sympathizing  with  it, — has  the  slightest  compunction  in 
deceiving  by  falsehood.  He  does  not  believe  a  word  they  tell 
him.  Rank,  quality,  previous  character,  makes  no  exception 
to  this  experience.  He  has  many  queer  stories  to  tell  in  proof 
of  this.  As  to  the  men,  they  are  only  a  little  more  guarded — 
though  we  see  enough  in  Southern  bulletins  to  make  our  own 
conclusions.  These  are  traits  disclosed  by  the  extraordinary 
state  of  affairs  ;  and  but  for  this  commotion  we  would  have  run 


330  LIFE  OF  JOHN  r. 

through  our  worldly  career  in  the  belief  that  truth  was  the  dis 
tinctive  glory  of  the  Anglo-Saxon.  How  little  we  know  of 
ourselves !" 

At  the  commencement  of  the  third  year  of  the  war,  Mr.  Ken 
nedy  wrote  a  series  of  letters  addressed  to  the  late  Mr.  Seaton, 
then  editor  of  the  National  Intelligencer,  and  published  in  that 
journal.  At  the  end  of  the  conflict  they  were  collected  into  a 
volume  under  the  title  of  "  Mr.  Ambrose's  Letters  on  the  Rebel 
lion  ;"  and  the  author's  reason  therefor  is  that  "every  thing  that 
may  serve  to  note  the  history  of  such  an  era,  has  a  value  that 
makes  it  worth  preservation."  In  this  instance  a  special  inter 
est  attaches  to  these  unpretending  contributions  to  the  bibliog 
raphy  of  the  war.  The  author's  intimate  relations  with  the 
South ;  his  long  political  experience  ;  the  prompt  and  firm  stand 
he  took  as  a  national  citizen  and  patriot  during  the  struggle  ; 
his  liberal  and  urbane  disposition,  which  rendered  him  a  desir 
able  mediator  as  well  as  a  noble  champion — all  gave  emphasis 
and  significance  to  his  calm  and  earnest  appeal  to  old  but  rec 
reant  friends,  while  it  strengthened  the  purpose  and  clarified 
the  arguments  of  his  own  allies.  We  know  of  no  work  which, 
in  so  concise  and  convincing  a  manner,  gives  a  more  authentic 
summary  of  the  events  and  influences  which  culminated  in  re 
bellion,  or  more  candidly  and  truly  analyzes  the  latent  causes 
and  successive  phases  of  the  "  ripening  of  a  wonderful  revolu 
tion  in  the  political  and  social  character  of  the  nation."  While 
logical  and  rigid  in  the  statement  of  facts,  and  uncompromising 
in  the  denunciation  of  treachery,  these  letters  are  written  "  in 
the  kindest  spirit  of  old  friendship ;"  they  are  at  once  judicial 
and  conciliatory  :  tracing  the  origin  of  the  secession  heresy  to 
the  "  quixotes  of  politics"  and  the  "  traditionary  dialectics"  that 
had  bred  a  class  of  "  hair-splitting  doctrinaires  ;"  and  while  ex 
posing  the  sophistry  thereof,  he  reveals  the  means  and  methods 
whereby  mere  foolish  speculation  was  perverted  into  sectional 
bitterness,  and  shows  how  the  loss  of  political  prestige,  the 
promptings  of  selfish  ambition,  dreams  of  Southern  empire,  and 
the  "domineering  importunity  of  political  agents,"  fostered  the 


DURING    THE    REBELLTOX.  331 

war  of  opinion  into  bloody  battle  ;  the  machinery  of  the  conspir 
ators  is  also  revealed  in  the  cunning  measures  adopted  to  di 
vide  the  Democratic  party  and  secure  the  election  of  a  Repub 
lican  President,  which  was  the  signal  to  "fire  the  Southern 
heart ;"  all  the  elements  of  the  rebellion  are  laid  bare ;  the 
"  exorbitant  and  engrossing  State  pride  ;"  the  extravagant  and 
inhuman  claims  of  slavery  ;  the  forced  revival  of  the  slave-trade  ; 
— the  local  prejudices,  the  youthful  zeal,  the  perverse  reason 
ing,  the  imaginary  wrongs  and  insane  pretentious  which  were 
enlisted  so  artfully  and  insidiously  in  the  desperate  cause ;  nor 
are  the  sins  of  the  Northern  allies  of  the  rebels  passed  over ; 
the  history  of  their  union  with  and  subjection  to  the  party  of 
the  South  which  originated  the  treason,  is  faithfully  related ; 
the  Constitution  is  examined  and  the  views  of  its  framers  cited  ; 
the  benignity  of  the  Federal  Government  vindicated,  and  the 
"  sober  second  thought"  of  the  infatuated  men  who  were  drawn 
into  the  rebellion,  appealed  to  for  tardy  but  sincere  recognition 
of  the  truth  and  manly  abjuration  of  their  fatal  error,  if  "  the 
chances  of  war  should  permit  these  letters  to  cross  the  line." 
Mr.  Kennedy's  final  counsels  to  his  misguided  brethren  are 
as  wise  as  they  are  benign  ;  and  his  patriotic  hopes,  his  faith 
in  the  final  triumph  of  freedom  and  progress  only  gained 
strength  amid  the  tests  and  trials  to  which  both  were  so  long 
and  painfully  subjected.  "  It  is  only  from  the  truly  heroic,"  he 
observes,  "  from  those  who  possess  that  rare  wisdom  which  dis 
cerns  the  path  of  duty,  with  vision  undisturbed  by  passion  or 
affection,  and  who  have  the  courage  to  follow  it,  that  we  may 
expect  an  example  of  that  noble  patriotism  which  accounts  our 
country  dearer  than  all  human  blessings  and  its  service  only 
subordinate  to  that  we  owe  the  Creator."  And  he  deeply  felt 
the  consoling  truth  that  "the  sinews  of  nations  are  strengthen 
ed  by  conflict  and  their  virtues  nourished  by  the  discipline  of 
pain  and  sorrow." 

Mr.  Kennedy  was  fond  of  relating  the  gallant  conduct  of 
one  of  his  young  cousins  in  the  second  degree,  a  lad  of  eleven 
years  of  age,  the  grandson  of  his  uncle  Philip,  and  the  son  of 


332 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


his  cousin  Dr.  Pendleton,  of  Martinsburg.  Imbued  with  the 
most  earnest  loyalty,  little  Nat,  while  the  rebels  occupied  the 
town  and  bivouacked  on  the  family  domain,  became  a  favorite 
with  the  officers,  who  used  to  converse  freely  in  his  presence 
as  being  "  only  a  boy."  On  one  occasion  he  learned  that  two 
Union  prisoners  had  escaped  and  taken  to  the  woods  ;  on 
pretence  of  a  private  picnic,  he  put  his  own  dinner  and  all  he 
could  gather  from  the  table  in  a  basket,  and  scoured  the  coun 
try,  till  he  found  the  half-starved  fugitives  ;  and  after  supplying 
them  secretly  with  food  for  days,  guided  them  round  and 
through  the  outposts  of  the  enemy,  safely  into  the  Union  lines. 
On  another  occasion,  he  hovered  around  an  improvised  council 
of  war,  apparently  absorbed  in  play,  but  with  his  ears  on  the 
alert ;  he  discovered  that  Early  had  reached  the  valley  with 
fifteen  thousand  men,  and  intended,  next  morning,  to  surprise 
General  Kelly,  who,  with  a  tenth  part  of  such  a  force,  was  in 
camp  three  or  four  leagues  away,  wholly  unsuspicious  of  dan 
ger.  The  general  and  little  Nat  were  old  friends ;  the  former 
having  often  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  the  family,  when  quar 
tered  at  Martinsburg.  Pretending  he  was  going  into  the 
woods  to  pick  berries,  the  boy  managed  to  get  his  pony  out  of 
sight,  and  mounting  him  dashed  away  and,  after  a  rough  ride 
of  twelve  miles,  reached  the  first  Union  pickets  and  requested 
to  be  taken  at  once  into  the  presence  of  the  commander.  He 
gave  so  accurate  a  report  of  the  position,  force,  and  intentions 
of  the  rebels,  that  General  Kelly  immediately  crossed  the 
river  into  Maryland  ;  and,  half  an  hour  afterwards,  the  enemy, 
confident  of  their  prey,  occupied  the  abandoned  camp,  but 
deemed  it  unsafe  and  inexpedient  to  cross  the  border  in  pur 
suit.  This  timely  service  was  communicated  in  Kelly's  dis 
patches  to  Washington,  and  President  Lincoln  sent  for  little 
Nat  to  come  to  the  Capitol  and  receive  thanks ;  he,  however, 
did  not  accept  the  invitation.  He  remained  all  night  with  the 
Union  officers,  and  had  to  make  a  wide  circuit  to  avoid  the 
enemy,  and  get  home  to  relieve  his  anxious  mother  alarmed  at 
his  long  and  inexplicable  absence. 


DURING    THE    REBELLION.  333 

A  more  distant  kinsman  of  Mr.  Kennedy,  and  one  in 
whose  welfare  he  took  a  deep  interest,  was  one  of  the  most 
efficient  national  officers  in  that  part  of  Virginia.  This  was 
David  Strother,  the  accomplished  artist  and  author,  who,  under 
the  nom  de  plume  of  Porte-Crayon,  has  so  admirably  delineated 
the  scenery  of  his  native  State.  Being  familiar  from  childhood 
with  every  inch  of  ground  in  Western  Virginia,  an  expert  top 
ographical  engineer,  and,  withal  a  stanch  Union  man,  his  ser 
vices  were  indispensable  in  that  region,  and  he  was  appointed 
aide  to  the  successive  generals  in  command,  enjoyed  their 
highest  confidence,  and  guided  their  most  successful  forays 
and  retreats.  To  him  Mr.  Kennedy  was  indebted  for  much 
interesting  information  of  what  transpired  in  that  border  sec 
tion  ;  the  father  of  the  artist  kept  a  famous  inn  at  Berkeley 
Springs,  and  was  known  far  and  wide  and  much  regarded  ;  as 
firm  as  his  gallant  son  in  his  love  for  the  Union,  he  was  cruelly 
persecuted  by  rebel  marauders ;  his  hotel  used  as  barracks, 
his  property  carried  off,  and  finally  himself  cast  into  prison, 
where  the  privations  undermined  his  health  and  caused  his 
death  soon  after  release.  Nor  did  the  artist-son  fare  better. 
His  valuable  collection  of  original  sketches,  and  all  the  materi 
als  he  had  gathered  for  future  use,  were  ruthlessly  destroyed. 
Strothers  cherished  the  most  affectionate  respect  for  Mr.  Ken 
nedy,  who  had  cheered  his  career  as  artist  and  author,  and 
deeply  sympathized  in  the  sufferings  incident  to  his  loyalty. 
It  was  a  labor  of  love  to  the  young  limner  to  illustrate  "  Swal 
low  Barn,"  and  he  excelled  in  representing  the  comedy  of  Vir 
ginia  life  with  the  pencil  as  his  kinsman  did  with  the  pen. 

At  length  the  prospect  brightened,  and  no  heart  welcomed 
the  "  beginning  of  the  end"  of  the  prolonged  and  terrible  strife, 
more  gratefully  than  did  Mr.  Kennedy.  With  the  surrender 
of  Vicksburg  he  hailed  the  collapse  of  the  rebellion ;  with  the 
victory  at  Antietam  the  security  of  his  own  State ;  and  with 
Gettysburg,  the  virtual  death-blow.  Of  the  first  relief  by  the 
withdrawal  of  the  rebels  from  the  border,  he  writes  to  his  uncle  ; 
Baltimore,  March  i3th,  1862. — "  Day  is  breaking  over  your  long 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

night  of  suffering  and  sorrow  along  the  border.  The  ruffian 
army  is  driven  away,  the  mails  restored,  and  in  ten  days  the 
railroad  will  be  open."  In  January,  1863,  he  writes  :  "  It  is  very 
pleasant  to  find  that  obstructions  which  have  been  thrown 
across  the  path  of  our  intercourse,  have  been  removed  at  last ; 
and  that  you  can  obtain  both  tidings  and  supplies.  Elizabeth 
has  improved  the  opportunity  to  send  you  oysters,  oranges  and 
other  things  now  deemed  '  luxuries.'  "  "  The  old  flag,"  writes 
Dr.  Pendleton  to  Mr.  Kennedy,  Martinsburg,  August  i6th, 
1864,  "  is  once  more  waving  in  our  streets  ;  and  I  hope  the  gov 
ernment  is  at  last  awake  to  the  importance  of  holding  on  to  our 
valley ;"  and  the  latter  thus  notes  the  closing  scenes  of  the 


war: 


Baltimore,  April  10,  1864.— The  American  has  the  full  of 
ficial  account  of  the  surrender.  The  negotiations  opened  yes 
terday  by  a  note  from  Grant  to  Lee,  inviting  capitulation,  to 
save  unnecessary  waste  of  life.  Lee  replies  by  saying  he 
would  be  glad  to  capitulate  if  Grant  would  arrange  with  him 
the  terms  of  a  peace.  Grant  replies  he  has  no  authority  to 
make  a  negotiation  for  a  peace,  but  that  he  was  sure  the  whole 
North  would  be  rejoiced  to  make  peace  as  soon  as  the  rebels 
complied  with  Mr.  Lincoln's  demand  to  lay  down  their  arms. 
He  invites  Lee  to  a  conference,  upon  the  terms  of  a  surrender. 
Lee  answers,  that  he  will  meet  him  to  hear  his  terms.  They 
accordingly  met  at  nine  o'clock  yesterday  morning,  at  Appo- 
matox  Court  House,  and  there  arranged  the  terms.  These 
were  very  simple, — freely  offered  by  Grant  and  freely  accepted. 
The  army,  with  all  its  munitions,  stores,  etc.,  to  be  surren 
dered  ;  the  men  to  go  home  on  their  parole,  not  to  serve  against 
the  United  States  until  exchanged ;  the  officers  to  be  allowed 
their  personal  baggage,  their  horses  and  side-arms,  and  dis 
charged  on  parole.  So  ENDS  THIS  STUPENDOUS,  WICKED  AND 
FUTILE  REBELLION.  Our  duty  is  gratitude  to  God,  amnesty 
and  forgiveness  to  the  weak  and  foolish  who  have  erred,  char 
ity  for  their  faults,  and  brotherly  assistance  to  all  who  repent. 
Never  has  history  recorded  a  rebellion  of  such  magnitude  and 


DURING   THE   REBELLION.  335 

such  folly.  Never  have  a  people  who  have  sinned,  been  more 
sadly  humiliated  than  the  rebels.  Not  one  hope  has  been 
fulfilled,  not  one  prediction  verified.  Such  want  of  forecast, — 
the  wisdom  of  statesmanship  ;  such  false  reckoning  of  their 
means  and  resources ;  such  ignorance  of  the  nature  and  char 
acter  of  the  contest  they  invoked ;  such  misconception  of  the 
strength  ot  the  nation  they  fought,  and  such  an  overwhelming 
confidence  in  themselves,  are  absolutely  marvellous  as  ex 
ponents  of  the  intelligence  and  capacity  of  the  leaders  of  the 
rebellion,  and  equally  so,  as  to  the  blind  confidence  and  sub 
mission  of  those  who  followed  them.  They  got  no  aid 
from  any  foreign  nation, — not  from  England  and  France  as 
they  promised  themselves, — not  even  from  Spain  or  Mex 
ico,  as  they  sought  to  do  in  the  latter  years  of  the  struggle. 
They  got  no  aid  from  the  Democratic  party  of  the  North 
and  West,  as  they  asserted  they  would.  Their  own  resources 
failed,  and  the  Union  victories  destroyed  their  means  of  sup 
ply  obtained  by  running  the  blockade.  They  lost  all  their 
cities  on  the  seaboard,  and  every  inland  town  of  note.  They 
then  appealed  to  the  negro  to  save  them,  and  actually  sunk  to 
the  degradation  of  enlisting  their  slaves  to  fight  for  the  per 
petuation  of  slavery.  And,  after  all  this,  they  surrender  their 
Capitol  of  Richmond  when  driven  from  it  by  battle, — them 
selves  burn  down  the  chief  part  of  the  city  amidst  the  remon 
strances  of  the  helpless  population,  who  were  ruined  by  this 
foolish  act  of  vandalism  ; — retreat  in  alarm  from  their  works, 
hoping  to  escape  to  the  mountains  ; — are  pursued,  engaged, 
beaten,  and  finally  forced  to  a  surrender  of  the  only  army 
upon  which  the  hopes  of  the  rebellion  hung.  So  be  it  ever, 
when  the  people  of  any  section  of  our  grand  and  beneficent 
Republic  shall  be  tempted  by  ambition,  by  avarice  or  by  pride, 
to  strike  a  blow  at  the  power  that  makes  us  a  nation,  or  at 
tempts  to  sever  the  territory  bequeathed  to  us  by  our  fathers, 
and  enlarged  by  our  own  labor !  The  surrender  was  made 
in  the  afternoon  of  yesterday — Palm  Sunday — and  not  more 
than  a  hundred  miles  from  the  spot  where  Cornwallis  sur- 


336  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

rendered  his  army  to  Washington,  and  closed  the  war  of  the 
revolution. 

April  ii,  1865. — Cloudy  day.  I  find  our  rebel  sympathi 
zers  are  softening  down.  They  praise  Grant's  magnanimity  in 
the  terms  of  the  surrender,  and  talk  of  the  generous  bearing 
of  the  Union  men  here  in  the  present  state  of  things. 

We  have  no  details  this  morning  from  the  army/  It  is  said 
that  there  is  a  strong  Union  feeling  manifesting  itself  in  Rich 
mond  and  other  parts  of  Virginia  among  persons  of  influence. 
I  have  always  believed  that  this  fact  would  be  disclosed  when 
ever  the  pressure  of  Davis's  despotism  was  taken  off  the 
Southern  people. 

Baltimore,  April  15,  1865. — A  drizzling  morning.  Tht 
whole  city  is  stricken  down  with  the  astounding  news  of  this 
morning  ; — the  Assassination  of  President  Lincoln,  and  also  of 
Mr.  Seward,  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  his  son  Frederick,  the 
Assistant.  Last  night  at  half-past  nine,  the  President  was 
shot  through  the  brain  in  the  theatre  at  Washington.  About 
the  same  hour,  the  Secretary  of  State,  who  was  lying  ill  in 
bed,  disabled  by  his  late  fall  from  his  carriage,  was  attacked 
by  a  ruffian,  who  entered  his  chamber  and  stabbed  him  two  or 
three  times  in  the  neck.  Four  persons  were  in  the  room  at 
the  time  attending  him.  These  were  all  wounded.  His  son 
Frederick  was  struck  down  at  his  door  and  remained  insen 
sible. 

This  horrible  news  came  last  night  at  two  o'clock,  and  E. 
and  I  heard  it  before  we  were  up,  from  Martha,  who  had  been 
to  church  and  got  it  there. 

The  morning  papers  contain  a  few  details.  We  shall  have 
full  accounts  this  evening. 

At  eleven  we  hear  that  Mr.  Lincoln  expired  at  twenty  min 
utes  past  seven  this  morning.  Mr.  Seward,  it  is  hoped,  barely 
hoped,  may  recover.  At  one  o'clock,  a  telegram  says  Freder 
ick  Seward  is  dead.  The  assassin  in  the  theatre  was  J.  Wilkes 
Booth,  a  Maryland  man  and  son  of  the  actor.  Letters  found 
in  his  trunk  show  this  crime  to  have  been  long  meditated  and 


DURING    THE    REBELLION.  337 

intended  for  the  fourth  of  March  last.  Harry  Penclleton  goes 
out  to  learn  some  particulars  and  comes  in  weeping.  Our 
whole  family  is  in  tears.  Never  was  a  blacker  crime  commit 
ted  with  so  little  object.  Lincoln  had  just  given  evidences  of 
clemency  to  the  rebels  of  which  every  one  was  speaking.  Even 
Richmond  was  beginning  to  laud  the  kindly  and  magnanimous 
tone  of  his  treatment  of  the  conquered  enemy.  How  igno- 
miniously  have  the  chivalry  of  the  rebellion  displayed  them 
selves  to  the  world  as  their  fortunes  began  to  wane  !  Firing 
New  York  by  secret  attempts  at  incendiarism,  hanging  and 
roasting  negroes,  massacring  them  when  made  prisoners,  rob 
bing  railway  trains  of  civil  passengers,  and  stealing  the  jewelry 
of  women  from  their  persons,  burning  one-half  of  Richmond  at 
the  moment  of  running  away  from  it,  when  whipped  out,  and 
plundering  their  own  people  there  of  what  could  be  stolen 
from  the  ruins ;  seizing  all  the  gold  of  their  banks  at  the  last 
moment  and  making  off  with  it ;  and  then,  when  utterly  van 
quished  and  forced  into  a  final  surrender  of  their  chief  army, 
to  wreak  their  malice  in  these  most  cowardly  and  detestable 
murders ! 

Baltimore,  April  18,  1865. — Fine  weather.  I  am  too  nervous 
to  do  any  thing.  I  can  neither  read  nor  write.  Government 
making  many  arrests  and  opening  up  strange  discoveries  rela 
ting  to  the  conspiracy.  The  feeling  of  the  country  is  intense. 
Nothing  was  ever  seen  like  it.  To-morrow  the  funeral  cere 
monies  are  to  be  performed  in  Washington  and  at  the  same 
time  all  over  the  United  States.  The  papers  to-day  contain 
Henry  Ward  Beecher's  Oration  at  Fort  Sumter  upon  the  raising 
of  the  old  flag  there  on  the  fourteenth — a  grand  memorial 
of  the  rebellion.  It  is  a  very  strange  thing  that  that  cere 
mony  of  Good-Friday — the  restoration  of  the  identical  flag 
lowered  in  sorrow  on  the  fourteenth  of  April,  1861,  and  now 
replaced  by  the  same  hands — General  Anderson,  assisted 
by  Sergeant  Hart, — on  the  fourth  anniversary  of  that  day,  should 
be  followed  by  the  abrupt  termination  of  the  life  of  Abraham 
Lincoln, — as  if  to  signalize  a  grand  work  finished, — the  con- 


338  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

quest  of  the  rebellion,  and  the  commencement  of  a  new  era  of 
National  existence  and  a  career,  as  we  have  every  reason  to 
hope,  of  such  power,  prosperity  and  glory  as  no  nation  ever  en 
joyed  before.  Then,  again,  it  may  also  be  noted,  that  this 
ceremony  marked  the  final  accomplishment  of  what  Mr.  Lin 
coln  seemed  to  consider  his  special  mission  in  the  Presidency, 
when  he  said  that  he  entered  upon  this  war  to  "  repossess 
and  re-occupy"  all  the  forts  that  the  insurgents  had  seized. 
It  so  happens  that  all  were  then  retaken,  and  this  formal  re- 
occupation  of  Sumter,  was  the  last  act  of  that  series  of  events. 
The  news  to-day  informs  us  that  Mobile  and  all  its  forts  sur 
rendered  on  the  ninth.  How  visibly  do  we  see  the  hand  of 
Providence  in  this  afflictive  and  striking  event !  It  looks  like  a 
solemn  sacrifice  of  blood — illustrious  and  dear  to  the  land,  as  a 
propitiation  for  sin  and  a  covenant  of  future  blessings  to  enrich 
and  magnify  and  strengthen  our  country.  It  celebrates  and  con 
secrates  the  consummation  of  the  greatest  historical  fact  of  all 
ages — the  emancipation  of  four  millions  of  slaves ;  the  wip 
ing  away  the  great  sin  of  centuries  and  restoration  of  the  na 
tion  to  virtue,  to  justice  and  freedom.  In  the  martyrdom  of 
our  good  President  our  country  will  find  the  seed  of  innumera 
ble  blessings  for  many  ages  to  come. 

Baltimore,  April  21,  1865. — Light,  drizzling  rain.  A  very 
sad  day.  The  remains  of  our  good  President  Abraham  Lin 
coln  arrive  with  a  great  escort  from  Washington  at  ten  o'clock, 
at  the  Camden  station.  The  rain  ceases,  but  the  day  is  murky 
and  damp.  The  boom  of  cannon  at  intervals,  and  the  deep 
tolling  of  all  the  bells  tell  the  city  that  the  corpse  is  on  its 
way  to  the  Exchange,  where  it  is  to  remain  until  two,  for  public 
inspection.  I  leave  my  study  and  go  down  to  Baltimore  Street 
just  in  time  to  see  the  whole  procession.  I  have  never  witness 
ed  a  spectacle  so  solemn.  The  streets  are  so  jammed  with 
spectators  that  we  can  with  difficulty  get  along  the  side  walks. 
Every  window  in  every  house,  every  balcony,  every  bulkhead, 
is  filled  with  men  and  women.  Some  three  or  four  regiments 
of  Artillery,  Cavalry  and  Infantry,  form  the  escort, — troops  of 


DURING    THE    REBELLION.  339 

General  officers  and  their  staffs  follow — then  the  hearse, — 
very  splendid — drawn  by  four  black  horses  ; — bands  of  music 
scattered  along  the  whole  length  of  the  procession  are  pouring 
out  grand  strains  of  melancholy  music.  A  large  body  of  offi 
cials — pall-bearers,  members  of  Congress,  etc.,  etc.,  follow  the 
hearse  in  carriages  ;  then  several  thousand  citizens  of  various 
corporate  bodies  and  associations,  Masonic  Societies,  Odd  Fel 
lows,  Union  Leagues,  Mayor  and  City  Council,  our  Union 
Club,  and  then  one  or  two  thousand  respectably  dressed  col 
ored  men,  in  Masonic  and  other  societies,  make  up  the  rest  of 
the  procession.  Innumerable  badges,  flags,  and  funereal  sym 
bols  are  borne  by  this  long  cortege.  The  emotion  of  sorrow 
is  very  deep  and  earnest.  I  could  not  restrain  my  tears, 
especially  when  the  body  passed  me,  and  I  hear  that  every 
where  the  same  emotion  was  remarked  in  the  spectators. 

Richmond,  May  12,  1865. — On  Tuesday  Sheridan  passed 
with  his  cavalry.  They  are  all  in  full  march  for  Washington. 
It  was  a  grand  sight  to  see  these  veterans,  who  have  accom 
plished  such  a  wonderful  campaign, — all  the  way  from  Chatta 
nooga  to  Richmond, — now  marching  with  such  alacrity  through 
this  conquered  city, — so  long  the  citadel  of  Rebellion.  The 
troops  came  from  the  other  side  of  the  James,  crossing  on  a 
pontoon,  and  occupying  some  four  or  five  hours  to  march  by 
one  point.  They  are  in  ordinary  marching  trim,  with  all  their 
baggage,  and  long  trains  of  pack  mules  (which  is  a  feature  in 
this  army  of  Sherman's),  as  well  as  wagons.  It  was  very 
touching  to  see  the  tattered,  torn  and  worn-out  colors,  of  the 
several  regiments,  and  the  honor  shown  them  by  the  hundreds 
of  spectators  from  the  loyal  States  who  lined  the  streets.  The 
inhabitants  did  not  show  themselves,  and  the  delicate  consid 
eration  of  tfur  soldiers  for  these  poor  people,  and  even  tender 
ness  with  which  they  were  treated,  was  very  beautiful  to  ob 
serve." 

The  following  selections  from  his  correspondence  at  this 
memorable  period,  more  fully  illustrate  his  views  and  feelings, 
as  well  as  his  patriotic  activity : 


340  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  June  3, 1865. 
To  WILLIAM  WHALLEY,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  WHALLEY  : —  *  *  *  Does  it  not  occur  to 
you  that,  quite  apart  from  the  merits  or  demerits  of  our  un 
happy  quarrel, — our  four  years'  of  agony  have  demonstrated 
to  us,  for  the  first  time,  that  we  really  are  a  nation, — and  in 
that  development  have  had  the,  further  proof  that  we  are  far 
the  strongest  nation  in  the  world  ?  Strong  in  resources  of 
every  kind  that  makes  a  master  power  ;  our  material  means, 
of  men,  money,  munitions  of  war,  inventive  faculty  and  supply 
of  all  things  necessary,  are  inexhaustible  ; — and  then,  far  above 
all  that,  the  indomitable  bravery,  perseverance,  skill  and  pa 
triotic  devotion  of  our  people, — as  these  qualities  have  been 
manifested  on  both  sides.  Now,  let  us  recognize  this,  and 
turn  it  to  good  account  for  the  future,  by  setting  out  with  good 
\\ill  and  honest  brotherhood  upon  a  new  career. 

I  am  afraid  you  have  suffered  too  much,  and  have  come 
too  recently  out  of  the  fiery  ordeal,  to  be  quite  ready  for  this 
advice, — but  I  wish  you  to  believe,  my  dear  sir,  that  whatever 
may  be  your  estimate  of  it  as  a  practical  suggestion,  you  may 
rely  upon  my  disposition  to  do  every  thing  I  can  to  promote 
the  pacification  to  which  you  allude  in  your  letter.  *  *  *  * 

With  kindest  remembrances  and  regard, 

Very  truly,  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  Thursday,  June  8,  1805. 
To  PROF.  GOLDWIN  SMITH. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  SMITH  : —  *  *  *  What  rapid  evolutions  of 
events  since  you  left  us !  What  a  history  have  we  made  in 
the  winding  up  of  our  great  drama  !  The  rebellion  crushed 
by  splendid  military  power  :  the  war  finished,  the  triumph 
illustrated  by  a  magnanimity  that  has  no  parallel,  and  by  a 
martyrdom  so  grand  as  to  make  it  the  most  enviable  good  for 
tune  that  ever  fell  upon  the  good  and  faithful  servant  of  a  peo- 


DURING   THE   REBELLION.  341 

pie.  Abraham  Lincoln  lives  forever  in  history  as  the  Liberator 
of  two  Continents.  He  crushed  out  slavery  from  America  and 
Africa.  "  The  Curse"  is  taken  off  the  world,  and  can  find  no 
lodgment  on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic.  The  extinction  of 
slavery  here  makes  it  henceforth  impossible  anywhere.  Think 
of  the  grandeur  of  such  a  sudden  and  sublime  exaltation  as 
that,  in  the  space  of  four  years.  The  life  of  Lincoln  seems 
like  a  heavenly  mission.  The  simple,  and  shrewd,  and  honest 
woodman,- — thrown  upon  such  a  stage,  with  such  a  labor  be 
fore  him  ;  the  steady  and  almost  inspired  wisdom  of  his  ad 
vance  from  each  stage  to  the  next,  in  the  accomplishment  of 
his  task,  and  the  final  consummation  of  his  appointed  work, 
in  the  end  of  the  war,  by  which  he  has  saved  the  Republic, 
and  which  has  secured  the  complete  and  perfect  liberation  of 
four  millions  of  slaves  ;  and  then,  the  duty  done,  the  depart 
ure  from  the  scene  of  his  labors,  a  sacrifice, — and  on  that 
great  day  of  propitiation,  when  Christians  were  everywhere  cel 
ebrating  that  greater  sacrifice  for  sin  which  redeemed  a  world  ! 
Follow  the  lead  of  this  thought  and  see  where  it  leaves  our 
great  and  true  hearted,. and  meek  and  humble  President.  *  * 

Very  truly,  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

ELLICOTT'S  MILLS,  MARYLAND,/ 
Monday,  July  3,  1805.          f 
To  HON.  E.  L.  STANLEY. 

*  Was  there  ever  any  thing  so  complete  and  perfect 
as  our  victory  ?  I  congratulate  you,  my  dear  Mr.  Stanley,  on 
this  result,  and  all  our  friends  in  England  who  stood  by  us  so 
nobly  in  our  time  of  trial, — Goldwin  Smith,  Bright,  Cobden, 
the  Duke  of  Argyle,  Lord  Houghton,  Stuart  Mill, — and  all 
the  rest  who  had  a  kind  word  for  us  in  our  great  tribulation. 
We  have  come  through  it,  with  much  sorrow  in  the  loss  of 
friends,  but  without  diminution  of  strength.  The  Union  is 
more  powerful  to-day  than  it  ever  was  before.  The  prosperity 
of  the  North  goes  on  with  increasing  vigor.  I  think  the  South 
will  soon  be  able  to  make  the  same  boast.  Our  population  is 


3  ±2  LIFE    OP   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

larger  than  in  1860 ;  our  debt  gives  us  no  trouble, — the  taxes 
are  paid  cheerfully,  and  we  are  able  to  make  a  surplus,  which 
will  discharge  the  debt, — or  as  much  as  we  desire  to  dis 
charge, — in  one  generation.  Our  armies,  which  are  now  going 
home,  are  more  effective  than  at  any  period  of  the  war.  Here 
where  I  live,  on  the  banks  of  the  Patapsco,  ten  miles  from  Bal 
timore  and  near  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railway,  troops  are 
passing  in  trains  almost  every  hour,  and  as  they  see  my  flag 
which  hangs  from  the  library,  I  get  the  cheers  of  a  regiment 
at  a  time.  One  hundred  thousand,  have  sped  by,  hurraing, 
shouting,  and  sometimes  dancing  on  the  tops  of  the  cars, 
within  the  last  fortnight.  These  are  mostly  Sherman's  army, 
going  home  to  the  West  after  having  made  their  wonderful 
round  of  travel  which  history  hereafter  is  to  keep  in  immortal 
remembrance. 

It  would  delight  you  to  see  this  up-springing  of  the  nation 
from  trouble  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  pleasures  and  charities 
and  generous  hopes  of  peace.  *  *  * 

Very  truly,  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 


JOURNALS.  343 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Mr,  Kennedy's  Journals ;  His  Social  Life  and  Influence  ;  Public  Spir 
it  ;  Various  Speeches ;  Occupations ;  Slavery  in  Maryland ;  Manu 
mission  of  Two  Slaves ;  His  Forbearance  ;  Record  of  His  Feelings 
and  Daily  Experience. 

AS  Mr.  Kennedy's  spheie  of  action  widened  with  advan 
cing  years,  and  the  variety  and  interest  of  his  social  life 
increased,  he  began  to  keep  a  diary,  the  earliest  volume  of 
which  is  dated  1847.  Before  this  period  his  note-books  were 
chiefly  used  for  business  memoranda  ;  a  man  of  admirable 
method  and  extreme  conscientiousness  in  the  transaction  of 
affairs,  whether  on  his  own  account  or  that  of  others,  nothing 
can  exceed  the  order,  promptitude  and  accuracy  with  which  he 
recorded  every  important  fact  in  regard  to  his  various  trusts 
and  his  own  private  concerns.  Not  only  do  these  memora 
bilia  serve  as  evidence  in  a  legal  point  of  view,  but  they 
greatly  facilitate  the  action  and  make  clear  the  duty  of  those 
who  come  after  him.  With  these  notes  for  practical  reference, 
there  began,  at  the  time  mentioned,  to  appear  an  account  of 
his  daily  employments,  of  the  events  of  the  hour,  with  com 
ments  on  questions  of  immediate  interest  and  sketches  of  em 
inent  or  eccentric  individuals  with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 
They  also  furnish  a  complete  history  of  his  public  life  and  re 
veal  his  motives  of  action  ;  from  those  written  while  he  was 
in  Congress  and  immediately  after,  might  be  collected  an  au 
thentic  and  candid  history  of  the  Whig  party  ;  while  the  descrip 
tions  of  his  frequent  journeys — the  scenery  and  society,  the 
economies  and  traits  of  each  region  visited,  would  furnish  a 
novelist  with  all  the  needed  local  data  whereon  to  lay  the 


344  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

scene  of  a  story  illustrative  of  American  life.  Mr.  Kennedy's 
recorded  impressions  of  public  men  are  singularly  discrimina 
ting  ;  in  many  instances  prophetic  ;  and  this  not  owing  alto 
gether  to.  his  intelligent  observation  of  character,  but  also  to 
his  fine  and  true  moral  instincts.  Another  phase  of  his  life 
unconsciously  brought  out  in  these  frank  journals,  is  the  sig 
nificance  and  scope  of  his  social  sympathies.  It  seems  to 
have  been  an  absolute  necessity  of  his  nature  to  hold  intimate 
relations  with  his  fellow-men,  to  exchange  views,  to  cherish 
friendships,  to  "flit  the  time  gently  as  they  did  in  the  golden 
age."  In  every  one  of  the  many  places  he  habitually  visited, 
in  our  principal  cities,  at  Saratoga,  Sharon  and  Newport ;  in 
Virginia,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Washington  and  Richmond — 
wherever  the  pursuit  of  business  or  recreation  so  frequently 
led  him,  a  host  of  attached  friends  greeted  his  coming,  made 
excursions  to  show  him  every  thing  of  interest  around  them, 
and  parties  to  bring  him  in  contact  with  interesting  people ; 
his  coming  was  ever  the  signal  for  congenial  re-unions  or  so 
cial  pilgrimages,  the  record  whereof  is  full  of  zest  and  sug 
gestive  of  the  most  delightful  intercourse  and  observation  ; 
even  political  tours  grow  attractive  in  the  retrospect,  by  virtue 
of  the  sympathetic  companionship  which  opens  new  vistas  to 
the  mind  and  expands  the  heart  beyond  party  objects,  into  the 
realm  of  humanity.  We  also  learn  by  this  unstudied  chroni 
cle,  the  secret  of  that  affection  which  Mr.  Kennedy  inspired 
in  young  and  old,  and  of  the  fresh  charm  which  life  kept  for. 
him  to  the  last.  He  habitually  exercised  his  thoughts  and 
feelings  disinterestedly  ;  that  is,  he  let  them  go  forth jand  be 
come  identified  with  the  welfare  of  others,  with  objects  of  pub 
lic  utility  and  subjects  of  comprehensive  scope.  Hence  the 
hospitality  of  his  mind  and  the  fidelity  of  his  heart,  which  con 
tinued  to  entertain  casual  acquaintance  until  it  ripened  into 
friendship,  and  to  manifest  an  interest  in  others  long  after  ab 
sence  or  accident  had  interfered  with  frequent  personal  asso 
ciation. 

Never  did  the  truth  of  Cowper's  maxim  about  the  many  oc- 


JOURNALS.-  345 

cupations  of  those  whom  the  world  call  idle,  have  a  more 
striking  illustration,  than  in  the  life  of  Mr.  Kennedy.  The 
record  of  his  employments  is  the  most  varied  imaginable,  and 
so  incessant  as  to  cause  us  to  wonder  how  and  when  he  found 
time  to  accomplish  so  much  apart  from  public  duty  and  social 
requisitions.  He  was,  in  the  first  place,  a  faithful  correspond 
ent  and  besides  the  inevitable  letters  of  business  and  courtesy, 
kept  his  kindred  fully  informed  of  passing  events  around  him, 
and  his  political  friends  au  courant  with  his  opinions  and  the 
state  of  public  affairs.  He  was  called  upon  continually  to  de 
liver  addresses,  to  draw  up  reports  and  memorials,  to  preside 
at  meetings,  to  plan  a  political  campaign  and  arrange  a  social 
celebration  ;  he  was,  for  many  years,  one  of  the  most  active  di 
rectors  in  the  large  railway  corporations  of  Maryland  ;  and  any 
business  they  had  with  the  Legislature,  with  other  companies 
or  with  the  public,  was  sure  to  be  confided,  as  far  as  its  docu 
mentary  statement  went,  to  Mr.  Kennedy's  pen  or  speech. 
The  diversity  of  calls  upon  his  friendly  service  was  indeed  re 
markable.  One  day  we  find  him  busy  with  the  design  of  a 
gold  snuff-box  he  has  been  requested  to  invent  and  have  exe 
cuted  ;  another  he  is  engaged  in  reading  the  manuscript  of  a 
young  author  who  solicits  his  opinion  and  advice  ;  here  is  writ 
ten  the  programme  of  a  dinner-party  to  some  distinguished 
stranger  ;  then  the  toasts  or  speeches  for  an  historical  fite ; 
now  he  is  signing  or  distributing  diplomas  as  Provost  of  the 
Maryland  University  or  bonds  of  a  railroad ;  and  now  receiv 
ing  a  basket  of  flowers  in  testimony  of  gratitude  from  the 
young  ladies  of  a  public-school,  where  he  has  officiated  at  the 
examination  ;  one  evening  he  delivers  a  lecture,  another  he 
writes  a  chapter  in  a  novel  or  biography ;  one  morning  is 
passed  with  a  board  of  directors,  and  another  in  helping  a 
poor  scholar  to  obtain  employment.  Often  occur  such  remarks 
as  this :  "  My  attention  has  been  recently  withdrawn  from 
my  book  by  the  affairs  of  the  railroad  company  of  which  I  am 
a  director." 

The  notes  of  his  impressions  of  a  sermon  are  followed  by 


346  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

those  derived  from  a  play — both  preacher  and  actor  being  of 
ten  carefully  estimated  ;  now  he  is  occupied  with  an  obituary 
notice  of  one  eminent  friend,  and  now  with  the  appreciative 
criticism  of  another's  new  book  ;  to-day  he  gives  away  a  bride 
and  to-morrow  is  harassed  with  the  care  of  an  improvident  rel 
ative  ;  he  makes  a  note  of  his  doings  at  the  Orphan's  Court, 
as  trustee,  and  of  the  illness  of  a  favorite  and  faithful  servant ; 
one  morning  is  devoted  to  letter-writing,  another  to  reading,  and 
each  occupation  is  chronicled  ;  in  regard  to  the  latter,  his  habit 
continued  desultory  to  the  last ;  from  Norton's  Evidences  of 
Christianity  and  Newman's  Hebrew  Monarchy,  he  turns  to 
Prescott's  newly-issued  History,  or  some  freshly-acquired  docu 
ment  which  throws  light  on  the  earlier  annals  of  his  own 
country.     He  sends  indigenous  products  to  friends  abroad 
with  pleasant  epistles  thereon;    canvas-back  ducks    to  Lady 
Houghton  and  the  Bishop  of  Oxford,  "  old  bourbon"  to   Sir 
Richard  Packenham,  and  hominy  to  Lady  Holland  ;  and,  af 
ter  a  day  in  his  library,  looks  in  at  the  club  with  some  literary 
guest,  who  has  paused,  on  his  journey,  to  see  him,  or  takes  a 
long  walk  with  the  old  friend  of  his  youth.     These  constant 
and  varied  occupations  are,  from  time  to  time,  interrupted  by 
illness,  which  is  followed  by  his  unfailing  viaticum — a  journey, 
on  which  he  starts  with  alacrity,  if  the   health  of  his  wife's 
father  allows  her  to   accompany  him,   and   sadly  otherwise. 
These  frequent  jaunts  are  always  planned  and  provided  for 
with  systematic  care   and  the  experience  faithfully  recorded  ; 
expenses,  routes,  companions,  and  local  resources  being  thus 
preserved  for  future  references ;  many  of  them  have  already 
acquired  a  historical  significance.     On  setting  out  for  one  of 
the  longest  of  these  excursions  to  the  West  and   South,  he 
writes:  Nov.  igt/i,  1850. — "Up   soon   after   six;  a   beautiful 
day  ;  my  dear  E.  came  into  my  dressing-room   with  her  Bible 
and  begs  me  to  put  it  in  my  trunk.     I  do  so,  and  shall  read  it 
often  for  her  sake   as  well  as  my  own  ;  Mr.  Gray  and  Martha 
are  both  at,  table  ;  E.,  of  course,  with  her  heart  brimming  over 
at  her  eyes  ;  old  Phil,  has  the  carriage  at  the  door  ;  we  have  a 


JOURNALS. 


347 


leave-taking  all  round — heart  too  full  to  speak  ;  I  hurry  off  af 
fecting  to  be  cheerful." 

At  the  frequent  anniversary  dinners  at  which  he  assisted, 
and  the  political  ones  given  on  his  tours,  he  was  called  upon 
to  deliver  impromptu  addresses  ;  some  of  them  are  quite  felic 
itous,  and  the  diversity  of  the  subjects  and  occasions  remark 
able.  He  alludes  quite  humorously  to  this  phase  of  his  expe 
rience  in  his  diary ;  and  was  often  taken  entirely  by  surprise 
by  some  overwhelming  compliment,  and  never  more  so  than 
at  a  sumptuous  supper  at  Charleston,  S.  C.,  when  travelling 
with  Mr.  Fillmore  in  the  Spring  of  1854.  A  warm-hearted 
and  distinguished  gentleman  pres-ent  gave  the  toast — "  Hon. 
John  P.  Kennedy — the  honors  he  has  received  are  worthily 
enjoyed  by  one  who  has  done  so  much  to  develope  the  public 
character  of  our  country,  and  preserved  with  his  pen,  for  dis 
tant  generations,  the  most  glorious  period  of  our  history." 
In  describing  a  dinner  of  the  St.  Andrew's  Society,  a  few 
years  previous,  he  thus  refers  to  a  similar  call  upon  his  ora 
torical  powers  and  the  effect  of  habit  in  enabling  him  to  prove 
equal  to  the  occasion  : 

tl  After  some  time  there  comes  a  toast  to  the  author  of  "  Swal 
low  Barn"  and  "  Horse-Shoe  Robinson,"  which  of  course  brings 
me  up  again — speech  No.  4.  Pretty  well  for  a  modest  and  shy 
man  who  hates  dinner  speeches.  They  come  easy,  however, 
especially  after  the  first,  and  I  have  got  used  to  it.  It  amuses 
me  to  hear  some  of  the  more  unpractised  ones  saying  they  wish 
they  had  my  facility.  In  truth  what  facility  I  have,  comes  from 
desperation,  for  a  man  who  is  brought  out  at  a  dinner-table  is 
so  cornered  that  he  cannot  escape.  It  greatly  terrified  me  for 
a  long  time  ;  but,  as  I  said,  I  have  found  courage  in  despair, 
and  get  on  tolerably." 

The  singular  inconsistency  of  feeling  and  opinion  made  ap 
parent  by  the  rebellion,  was  nowhere  more  incongruously  ex 
hibited  than  in  Maryland;  and  especially  with  reference  to 
slavery.  Quite  early  in  the  annals  of  the  State,  we  find  a  so 
ciety  instituted  for  the  abolition  of  slavery  and  the  relief  of  free 


348  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

negroes  unlawfully  held  in  bondage.  An  advertisement  in  a 
leading  journal  of  Baltimore,  elated  May,  1796,  offers  "for  sale 
an  Irish  servant-girl  who  has  about  two  years  to  serve  ;"  and 
another  announces  the  "  ship  Sally,  just  arrived  from  Limerick, 
with  a  number  of  men  and  women  servants  and  redemptionists, 
all  in  good  health,  whose  time  will  be  disposed  of."  These  cu 
rious  indices  of  the  customs  and  ideas  relative  to  domestic  servi 
tude  are  emphasized  by  the  ardent  sympathy  of  the  secessionists 
of  the  same  region,  more  than  half  a  century  after,  in  the  at 
tempt  to  establish  an  empire  based  on  slaver}7  and  the  ruin  of 
the  Republic.  We  have  alluded  to  the  exceptional  opportunities 
Mr.  Kennedy  enjoyed  to  appreciate  and  understand  the  state 
of  feeling,  the  prejudices,  the  passions  and  the  purposes  of  ex 
tremists  both  North  and  South.  We  have  seen  how  early  and 
emphatically  he  ranged  himself  against  slavery  while  he  pro 
tested  against  violence  and  injustice  in  its  abolition.  To  illus 
trate  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  an  unwilling  slave-holder  to 
rid  himself  of  the  burden,  the  following  extracts  from  his  jour 
nal  are  given  : 

Berkeley  Springs,  July  21,  1857. — I  prepare  a  deed  for 
the  manumission  of  my  servants  John  and  Matilda,  and  their 
children,  which  I  intend  to  execute  and  record  in  Martins- 
burg,  setting  the  family  free  on  the  ist  of  March  next.  I  give 
them  this  length  of  time  in  order  that  they  may  prepare  them 
selves  to  remove  next  Spring  to  Harrisburg,  where  I  have 
spoken  to  Mr.  Philip  Dougherty  to  take  charge  of  them  and  al 
low  them  to  consult  him  for  advice,  etc.,  and  who  will  also  see 
that  they  shall  not  suffer  for  want  of  an  occasional  supply  of 
means  in  any  exigency  of  sickness  or  want  of  employment, — 
for  which  I  shall  take  care  to  provide  him.  Thus  I  get  rid,  at 
last,  of  these  slaves,  which  I  have  been  reluctantly  obliged  to 
hold.  Hitherto  they  have  refused  to  be  set  free,  and  I  am  now 
resolved  to  manumit  them  without  asking  their  consent  to  it. 

July  27. — I  execute  a  deed  of  manumission  for  John  and 
Matilda  and  their  two  children,  Edmund  and  Elizabeth,  which  I 
mean  to  acknowledge  to-morrow  in  Martinsburg  and  record  it, 


JOURNALS.  349 

to  take  effect  ist  March,  1858.  I  write  a  letter  to  Philip  Dough 
erty,  of  Harrisburg,  requesting  him  to  take  care  of  them 
and  also  a  pass  for  them  to  travel  with  wherever  they  choose 
to  go.  These  papers  I  mean  to  leave  with  them,  to  be  used 
when  they  find  occasion. 

Martinsburg,  July  28.— I  send  for  John  and  Matilda,  and 
their  children,  and  tell  them  I  have  set  them  free,  to  take  ef 
fect  on  the  ist  of  March,— but  if  they  choose  they  may  go  to 
Pennsylvania  at  any  time  before  that,  as  I  have  fixed  that  day 
only  to  give  them  time  to  prepare  to  remove,  which  they  must 
do,  by  the  law,  within  the  year  following  their  manumission. 
They  are  very  unwilling  to  accept  this  gift  to  them,  and  Matil 
da  falls  to  weeping.  They  don't  like  the  thought  of  taking  care 
of  themselves  in  a  free  State.  I  tell  them  I  have  provided  a 
friend  for  them  in  Harrisburg,  Mr  Philip  Dougherty,  to  whom 
I  give  them  a  letter.  He  promised  me  that  he  would  give 
them  protection  and  advice.  I  tell  them  also,  that  when  I  re 
turn  from  Europe,  I  will  go  and  see  how  they  are  coming  on, 
and  if  they  are  behaving  well,  I  will  buy  a  comfortable  house 
and  lot,  and  put  them  in  it  rent  free,  and  then  help  them  in 
other  ways.  These  promises  hardly  reconcile  them  to  the 
change.  But  I  have  determined  to  persist  in  my  plan.  I  give 
them  a  pass  to  leave  the  State,  and  travel  where  they  please, 
and  whenever  they  wish  to  go. 

Baltimore,  Dec.  22,  1868.— Edmund  Pendleton  is  here 
from  Martinsburg.  He  calls  to  see  me,  and  I  ask  him  to  look" 
after  a  demand  made  upon  me  by  D— ,  of  Martinsburg,  for 
seventeen  months'  rent  due  by  John  and  Matilda.  These  poor 
blacks  I  fear  will  never  be  able  to  support  themselves.  I  tell 
Ed.  to  examine  the  account,  and  so  far  as  it  may  be  cor 
rect,  I  will  pay  it,  though  I  think  it  something  of  an  impo 
sition  on  me  that  Mr.  D —  should  suffer  these  people  to  be 
come  indebted  to  him  to  such  an  extent.  They  have  been 
free  ever  since  the  ist  of  March  last,  and  I  am  not  answerable 
from  that  date, — but  still  I  will  pay  the  amount  that  they  just 
ly  owe." 


350  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

A  clerical  friend  of  Mr.  Kennedy's,  whose  chief  intellectual 
refreshment  it  was  to  drop  into  his  library  for  a  chat,  assures 
me  that,  although  he  resorted  thither  at  all  hours  and  staid 
sometimes  unconscionably  long,  he  never  detected  even  a  look 
of  impatience  at  the  interruption ;  another  intimate  acquaint 
ance  declares  that  Mr.  Kennedy  never  would  revert  to  or  allow 
the  discussion  of  any  injustice  of  which  he  was  the  subject ; 
in  the  prompt  forgiveness  of  injuries  and  the  patient  endurance 
of  vexation  he  was  a  truly  Christian  gentleman.  Nevertheless, 
that  he  felt  as  keenly  as  others  what  he  bore  with  such  rare  mag 
nanimity,  is  apparent  from  the  private  and  impulsive  record  of 
his  thoughts ;  thus,  after  noting  an  instance  of  generous  and 
ill-requited  aid,  he  exclaims — "  another  swindle  !  how  very 
strange,  that  out  of  so  many  cases  in  which  I  have  taken  "  the 
word  of  a  gentleman,"  short  of  funds,  and  lent  him  money,  I 
have  never  yet  had  a  single  honest  return ;"  and  again  :  "  I 
am  growing  tired  with  this  working  in  a  team  in  which  the  pull 
is  not  for  -the  load,  but  against  my  yoke-fellow ;"  alluding  also 
to  a  wasted  morning  which  he  had  urbanely  given  up  to  an 
egotist,  he  says  :  "  I  must  write  an  Essay  on  Bores." 

Tenderly,  now  and  then,  peer  out  like  spring  blossoms,  from 
this  history  of  external  things,  glimpses  of  that  happy  back 
ground  of  his  life  whence  came  its  most  genial  sustenance  and 
serenity.  Habitually  noting  the  weather  so  as  to  compare  the 
seasons  in  successive  years,  he  often  adds  a  word  as  to  the 
influence  thereof  upon  his  condition  and  that  of  those  he  loves. 
"The  weather  just  suits  Lizzie,"  he  writes;  or,  "This  is  my 
wedding-day,  now  nineteen  years  married.  I  present  my  dear 
Elizabeth  with  a  little  token  of  grateful  remembrance.  No 
man  was  ever  happier  in  wedlock  than  I  have  been  through 
all  this  lapse  of  time  ;  no  man  had  ever  more  reason  to  be 
grateful  for  the  blessing  of  a  truly  good  wife,  I  pray  for  her 
continued  happiness."  Seldom,  however,  are  his  private  emo 
tions  recorded ;  he  breaks  off  abruptly,  in  one  instance,  when 
thus  indulging  their  expression—"  enough  of  this  j  these  pages 
are  intended  as  a  loose  chronicle  of  ordinary  events,  not  of 


JOURNALS.  351 

feelings."  They  are,  indeed,  precisely  such  fainpour  servir,  as 
the  French  say,  for  a  personal  memoir ;  but  it  requires  the 
details  which  the  association  of  ideas  would  revive  to  the  au 
thor's  mind,  in  order  to  render  them  satisfactorily  biographi 
cal.  As  an  evidence  and  illustration  of  character  and  a  record 
of  life,  however,  they  serve  an  excellent  end  and  also  have  an 
historical  value.  They  show  a  methodical  habit  of  observa- 
cion  ;  much  reading  and  reflection  ;  they  conserve  many  curi 
ous  personal  facts  gleaned  in  conversation  with  eminent  men ; 
they  afford  veritable  glimpses  of  social  and  political  life,  and 
abound  in  economical  facts  ;  they  betray  a  very  uncommon  ver 
satility  of  taste  and  breadth  of  sympathy,  and  afford  evidence 
of  a  benign  activity  rare  in  our  age  and  country.  It  is  curious 
to  compare  them  with  Hawthorne's  Note-Books ;  the  latter 
are  far  more  elaborate,  and  one  constantly  sees  the  eye  for  ma 
terials  of  authorship  which  this  introspective  romancer  instinct 
ively  indulged.  Mr.  Kennedy's  object  was  evidently  more 
practical ;  now  and  then  he  notes  a  hint  for  an  essay,  and  de 
scribes  a  scene  or  a  character  available  for  history  or  fiction  ; 
but  his  chief  object  evidently  is  to  keep  such  an  account  of 
the  duties  performed,  the  vicissitudes  encountered,  and  the 
pleasures  enjoyed,  as  will  enable  him  to  recall  them,  in  one 
harmonious  picture,  and  draw  thence  the  life  and  light  of  the 
past,  as  reflected  in  a  mind  attuned  to  grateful  philosophy. 
Indeed  gratitude,  a  recognition  of  the  blessings  of  his  lot,  is  a 
marked  characteristic  of  the  writer  :  matter-of-fact  and  practi 
cal  as  are  his  usual  comments  and  chronicles,  when  an  anni 
versary  warms  his  sensibilities  with  fond  remembrance,  he 
cannot  resist  putting  in  words  his  reasons  for  trust  and  thanks 
giving.  Here  are  a  few  such  episodical  records  of  feeling 
suggested  by  the  return  of  his  birthday  ;  and  though  written 
at  long  intervals,  each  breathes  the  same  grateful  spirit : 

Wednesday,  October  25,  1848. — Fifty  three  !  Fiddle  de 
dee  !  Here  is  my  birthday.  The  top  of  the  morning  to  you, 
my  good  fellow  !  You  wear  well.  Somewhat  thin — somewhat 
scattered  in  the  matter  of  thatch  upon  the  poll ;  but  not  so  bare 


352  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

as  the  back  of  my  hand.  It  will  come  to  that  one  day.  Let 
it  come,  I  am  ready.  My  conscience  is  not  blistered.  I  have 
put  ratsbane  in  no  man's  porridge — defamed  no  man's  good 
name.  I  neither  lie  nor  steal.  In  a  broad  sense  that's  a  rare 
virtue.  Few  men  can  say  as  much.  I  am  well  to  do  in  the 
world,  with  all  manner  of  blessings  of  heart  and  hand  around 
me.  I  trust  I  am  thankful.  I  strive  to  be  charitable  and  be- 
neficient,  but  I  know  how  grievously  I  come  short  of  duty  in 
that.  I  desire  to  avoid  all  boastfulness  of  heart,  and  to  walk 
humbly  before  my  God.  Humbly  before  man  I  do  not  walk  ; 
no,  nor  proudly  either,  but  in  my  own  way,  indifferently  for 
the  most  part  to  praise  or  blame.  I  know  enough  of  mankind 
to  know  how  very  poor  a  thing  it  is  to  have  their  praise, — how 
very  common  to  have  their  blame  undeserved.  Let  me  do  my 
duty,  in  all  stations,  and  I  give  the  back  of  my  hand  to  conse 
quences. 

How  idly  do  I  spend  my  time  !  Bad  health  was  a  good 
excuse  a  short  time  ago,  but  it  is  not  so  now.  This  I  must 
mend,  and  work  more  and  play  less.  There  is  a  long  rest  at 
the  end. 

Patapsco,  Tuesday,  October  25,  1853. — This  is  my  birth 
day.  I  am  fifty-eight.  All  goes  well  with  me.  My  health  is 
good,  my  mind  is  sound,  my  fortune  and  estate  in  life  prosper 
ous.  My  mother  is  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  comparatively  vig 
orous  old  age  at  nearly  seventy-eight, — happy  in  her  condition. 
My  brothers  are  well  and  thriving.  My  dear  wife,  blest  with 
every  association  to  brighten  her  own  career,  and  still  more 
blest  in  the  good  gifts  of  a  serene  and  cheerful  temper,  a  reli 
gious,  confiding  spirit  and  a  blameless  life,  has  every  enjoyment 
which  loving  friendship  and  domestic  harmony  can  confer. 
Her  father  and  sister  are  as  happy  and  affectionate  as  herself, 
making  our  domestic  group  a  little  household  of  daily  benefac 
tions.  For  all  these  inestimable  and  cherished  blessings,  I 
am  devoutly  and  humbly  thankful  to  God,  expressing  my 
gratitude  to  him  in  morning  and  evening  thanksgiving.  Thus 
year  after  year  is  added  to  the  cycle  of  my  existence,  bringing 


JOURNALS. 


353 


me  increase  of  endowment  both  temporal  and  spiritual,  and,  I 
trust,  finding  me  more  cheerfully  conditioned  in  my  relation  to 
my  Maker,  and  my  fellow-creatures.  I  look  back  without  re 
gret,  and  forward  with  humble  hope  and  contented  submission 
to  the  events  of  the  future.  I  know  my  own  errors,  imperfec 
tions  and  omissions,  and  secretly  and  earnestly  strive  to  amend 
them,  in  that  prayer  and  meditation  which  more  and  more  grows 
to  be  the  natural  resource  and  pleasure  of  my  mind,  and  the 
predominant  habit  of  my  being. 

Baltimore,  Oct.  25,  1855.— "  Sixty !"  "twice  thirty"— as 
Colonel  Benton  would  say—"  Three  times  twenty,  sir  !" 

Here  I  am  sixty  years  of  age  on  this  bright,  cool,  frosty 
October  morning.  Things  go  well  with  me  yet.  I  am  happy 
in  many  blessings  bestowed  upon  me  by  a  kind  Providence 
which  has  always  cared  for  me  above  my  deservings.  Happy 
in  a  healthful  intellect,  and  in  a  fair  share  of  physical  ability 
and  comfort ;  happy  in  the  attachment  of  a  dear  and  devoted 
wife ;  happy  in  competent  fortune  and  store  of  worldly  goods. 
More  happy  in  a  contented  mind  which  is  at  peace  with  all 
mankind,  and  humbly  thankful  to  God  in  whose  mercies  I 
have  an  abiding  faith.  There  are  sadnesses  growing  around 
my  condition  in  the  loss  of  friends,  and  in  the  long-suffering 
and  infirmity  of  my  dear  'father-in-law,  Mr.  Gray.  But  I  re 
gard  these  as  no  other  than  the  appointed  and  necessary  con 
ditions  of  life,  with  which  we  have  no  rational  ground  to  find 
fault. 

Baltimore,  Thursday,  Oct.  25,  1860.— My  birthday— sixty- 
five.  A  beautiful,  mild  day.  Life  passes  gently  with  me  to 
wards  its  sunset.  I  take  it  with  its  vicissitudes  and  trials  and 
blessings,  with  a  thankful  and  happy  composure, — trustful  in 
the  guidance  of  a  merciful  and  indulgent  God,  and  with  calm 
resignation  and  hope  in  my  forward  look ;  with  some  infirm 
ity  of  health  sufficient  to  school  my  mind  to  a  due  sense  of 
physical  as  well  as  mental  imperfections,  and  stronger  reliance 
upon  the  good  Providence  who  controls  my  allotment,  both 
of  happiness  and  suffering.  My  trials,  however,  are  light,  my 


354  LIFE   OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

blessings  many,  and  my  spirit,  I  hope,  profoundly  thankful.  I 
find  a  daily  increase  in  the  strength  and  truth  of  my  religious 
convictions,  and  rest  with,  more  and  more  stable  faith  in  the 
promises  of  Christian  revelation.  I  endeavor  to  avoid  the  un- 
charitableness  of  sectarian  opinion,  and  maintain  an  equal 
mind  toward  the  various  forms  in  which  an  earnest  piety 
shapes  the  divisions  of  the  world  of  believers, — tolerating  hon 
est  differences  as  the  right  of  all  sincere  thinkers,  and  look 
ing  only  to  the  kindly  nature  of  Christian  principle  as  it  influ 
ences  the  personal  lives  and  conduct  of  men,  as  the  substan 
tial  and  true  test  of  a  sound  religion. 

According  to  a  custom  I  have  pursued  for  many  years,  I 
open  my  will  to-day  to  examine  it  and  determine  whether  I 
wish  any  thing  in  it  changed.  I  believe  I  have  provided  ev 
ery  thing  that  is  necessary  and  so  close  it  again  without  ad 
dition. 

New  York,  Oct.  25,  1863. — A  very  cold,  cloudy  day.  The 
anniversary  of  my  birth.  Sixty-eight.  Still  happy  in  many 
blessings,  and  I  hope  more  grateful  for  the  abundant  favors 
heaped  upon  me  by  a  merciful  God.  In  mind,  body  and  es 
tate,  I  have  manifolcl  reason  for  devout  thankfulness  to  the 
bountiful  Creator  of  the  world  who  has  conducted  my  steps  so 
prosperously  along  the  path  of  life,  and  to  whom  I  look  with 
humble  trust  for  that  support  which  shall  bring  me  serene  and 
hopeful  to  the  end  of  my  worldly  career. 

New  York,  Oct.  25,  1864. — This  is  my  sixty-ninth  birth 
day.  It  finds  me  in  the  enjoyment  of  as  much  happiness  as  I 
could  desire,  blessed  with  many  worldly  advantages,  and 
cheered  by  the  love  and  assiduous  tenderness  of  my  dear 
Elizabeth,  who  proves  to  me  how  beautifully  the  affections 
grow  in  strength  and  loveliness  as  age  confirms  the  promises 
of  youth,  and  time  sets  his  seal  upon  the  sincerity  and  truth 
of  a  noble-hearted  woman.  I  have  a  daily  growing  debt  of 
gratitude  to  my  Creator  for  abundant  blessings  much  above 
my  deserts  ;  but  I  feel  that  first,  above  all  these,  is  the  great 
good  I  have  found  in  the  gentle  influence  and  virtuous  control 


JOTJKNALS. 


355 


over  my  affections  constantly  exercised  in  our  married  life, — 
now  approaching  thirty-six  years, — by  my  beloved  wife." 

To  illustrate  his  manner  of  recording  whatever  inklings  of 
adventure  or  little  domestic  incidents  occur,  the  following 
passages  are  quoted : 

"  We  celebrated  our  Christmas  and  New  Year  as  we  have 
been  accustomed  to  do,  when  at  home,  for  some  years  : — we 
dining  on  Christmas  day,  with  our  old  friends,  the  Merediths ; 
and  they  dining  with  us  on  the  first  day  of  the  year.  Both  of 
these  meetings  were  very  pleasant.  It  is  a  happy  fortune  to 
declining  years  to  find  the  bonds  of  old  friendships  preserved, 
and  even  to  grow  stronger  by  the  concentration,  which  the 
steadily  diminishing  number  of  those  we  lose  by  the  wayside 
of  life,  promotes.  Our  two  families  grow  all  the  closer  in  this 
career.  "  The  farther  we  fly  the  faster  we  tie" — as  the  adage 
has  it." 

Philadelphia,  July  20,  1863. — It  is  a  warm  day.  We  are  up 
at  six,  breakfast  at  seven,  and  at  nine,  set  out  for  the  Philadelphia 
R.  R.  Station.  Our  party  consists  of  eight.  E —  and  M — ,  Mary 
Harrison  and  myself,  Kate  McGlancy,  M.'s  maid,  and  three 
colored  servants,  Emmeline,  Anne  and  Aleck.  I  have  a  pass 
for  the  whole  signed  by  General  Schenck  himself.  The  Mer 
ediths  and  their  party  are  going  by  the  same  train.  My  bag 
gage  consists  of  twelve  pieces  ;  a  pretty  formidable  mass.  We 
arrive  at  two — having  left  town  at  ten — at  Philadelphia,  where 
we  part  with  the  Merediths,  who  go  on  to  New  York.  We  go 
to  the  Continental.  After  dinner  E.  and  M.  and  M.  H.  and 
myself  take  a  street  railway  and  visit  Tom  Bell  and  his  family, 
in  Walnut  Street,  West  Philadelphia ;  sit  with  them  an  hour  and 
return  at  eight.  At  ten  I  meet  Admiral  Dupont  and  Winter 
Davis.  The  Admiral  is  giving  me  some  account  of  his  attack 
upon  Charleston.  He  does  not  express  any  high  opinion  of 
the  efficiency  of  his  iron-clads  and  monitors.  While  we  are 
conversing,  Lizzie  comes  to  me  with  an  air  of  great  alarm  to 
say  that  she  has  just  discovered  that  she  had  lost,  to-day,  all  her 
diamonds.  They  were  put  into  a  small  morocco  box,  and  this 


356  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

was,  as  she  supposed,  safely  bestowed  in  an  under  pocket  at 
tached  to  her  petticoat.  She  placed  the  box  there  this  morn 
ing  and  now  it  is  gone,  and  the  bottom  of  the  pocket  is  ripped 
with  a  large  hole  in  it ;  bad  sewing.  She  is  in  great  distress, 
for  there  was  her  old  Huguenot  ring, — descended  to  her  through 
a  period  of  two  hundred  years, — with  its  seven  large  diamonds 
of  the  cut  of  the  reign  of  Louis  Quatorze ;  a  diamond  pin  with 
her  father's  hair  set  in  the  back  and  an  inscription  of  his  initials 
and  day  of  his  death ;  two  other  rings,  and  two  other  pins  ;  all 
set  in  diamonds.  Intrinsically  they  are  worth  much  money ; 
but  to  her  invaluable  from  association.  What  is  to  be  done  ? 
First,  I  tell  her  there  is  hope  in  the  fact  that  her  pocket  was 
not  picked.  They  were  dropped  somewhere,  and  may  have 
fallen  into  honest  hands  ;  next  I  go  to  the  coach  that  brought 
us  to  the  hotel ;  then  send  to  the  railroad  cars.  No  tidings. 
I  draw  up  an  advertisement  offering  two  hundred  dollars  reward ; 
set  up  another  in  the  hotel.  We  copy  the  advertisement  and 
send  it  to  M- ,  in  Balti-more.  I  go  to  the  office  of  the  de 
tective  police.  There  is  nobody  there — it  is  too  late.  I  write  a 
letter  to  Tom  Bell,  and  put  it  in  the  Post  Office.  We  cannot 
wait  here  to-morrow,  as  we  must  be  off  for  New  York  at  ten  in 
the  morning. 

New  York,  July  21. — Lizzie  and  Martha  both  in  great  dis 
tress  about  the  diamonds.  I  encourage  them  with  the  hope  that 
they  will  certainly  hear  of  them  to-morrow.  Martha  rises  early 
and  goes  out  to  Tom  Bell's,  in  West  Philadelphia,  to  tell  him  of 
our  loss.  I  go  to  the  detective  office  and  have  a  memorandum 
made  of  the  particulars,  and  to  tell  the  officers  of  the  reward  I 
have  offered.  At  ten,  we  leave  the  hotel.  A  long  drive  to  the 
Kensington  depot,  where  we  set  out  at  eleven  ;  arrive  at  Jer 
sey  City  at  three,  cross  the  ferry  and  take  carriages  to  the  Fall 
River  boat  for  Newport,  where  we-  leave  Martha  and  Mary  Har 
rison  and  all  the  servants  to  proceed  at  five.  E.  and  I  drive  to 
the  New  York  Hotel ;  am  shockingly  cheated  by  the  hack- 
driver,  who  charges  me  five  dollars  and  a  half.  There  are  no 
such  insolent  and  extortionate  rogues  in  the  world  as  the  hack- 


JOURNALS.  357 

ney  coachmen  of  this  city.  We  get  an  excellent  room  at  the 
New  York  Hotel ;  dine  at  half-past  five,  and  afterward  call  at 
Mrs.  Rowlands,  where  we  find  the  Merediths.  They  all  set 
out  for  Newport  to-morrow.  E — ,  who  is  full  of  her  loss,  tells 
them  all  about  it,  and  meets  a  warm  sympathy.  Being  very 
warm,  I  go  to  bed  early.  At  midnight  I  am  awakened  by  a  tap 
at  the  door.  A  telegram  from  Tom  Bell — "  I  have  Lizzie's 
jewels  in  my  possession,  all  right."  What  a  timely  dispatch  ! 
A  load  suddenly  taken  off  the  mind  of  poor  E. — a  sound, 
wholesome  night's  sleep. 

Sharon,  July  24,  1863. — A  letter  from  Tom  Bell,  giving  us 
the  history  of  the  diamonds.  He  had  drawn  up  an  advertise 
ment  the  day  we  left  him,  offering  one  hundred  dollars  reward, 
instead  of  my  two  hundred,  and  gave  it  to  the  Ledger  to  appear 
the  next  morning.  The  same  evening,  Tuesday,  he  called 
upon  a  neighbor  of  his,  Mr.  Ward,  when  he  was  casually  in 
formed  by  that  gentleman  that  a  little  girl,  an  orphan,  bound 
to  him  as  a  servant  in  his  family,  had  picked  up  in  the  street 
the  evening  before,  at  the  corner  of  Thirty-ninth  and  Walnut 
streets,  a  box  of  jewels,  which  she  immediately  brought  to  him, 
with  her  story  of  the  finding.  Bell  told  him  he  had  just  offered 
a  reward  of  a  hundred  dollars  for  that  box.  It  was  produced, 
and  found  to  be  E.'s  lost  treasure,  which  was  at  once  delivered 
to  him.  Bell  told  Mr.  W.  that  the  reward  should  be  given  to 
the  little  girl,  and  that  he  would  have  it  invested  at  interest, 
to  be  paid  to  her  when  she  had  served  out  her  apprenticeship  ; 
that  he  was  sure  this  arrangement  would  gratify  us,  and  we 
should  be  glad  to  confirm  it.  Mr.  W.  assured -him  that  the 
girl  was  a  most  exemplary  and  worthy  subject  for  such  a 
bounty,  and  that  the  money  could  not  be  better  bestowed. 
What  a  pretty  piece  of  real-life  romance  is  this  whole  story ! 
The  loss  so  grievous,  the  finding  so  speedy,  and  the  whole 
event  to  wind  up  with  such  an  occasion  to  do  a  good  act  for 
a  worthy  orphan  child,  to  whom  it  may  turn  out  to  be  the 
cause  of  a  virtuous  and  prosperous  life.  E —  is  in  the  great 
est  delight  at  this  fortunate  denouement,  and  writes  immediately 
to  Martha,  enclosing  Bell's  letter  with  this  historiette. 


358  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

Baltimore,  May  31,  1863. — I  have  Mop  with  me  as  usual. 
Somewhat  concerned  to  hear  from  Pennington  that  the  police 
or  somebody  else  have  been  scattering  poisoned  sausages 
about  the  streets.  I  keep  a  watch  on  Mop,  and  get  home 
about  seven.  After  tea  I  go  out  to  visit  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bona 
parte  ;  stay  an  hour,  and  when  I  return  I  find  our  poor  little 
dog  dead.  He  was  taken  with  spasms  immediately  after  I 
left  the  house,  and  died  in  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour. 
Great  grief  in  the  family.  We  were  all  so  much  attached  to 
him.  A  little  friend  is  gone  whose  place  we  cannot  supply. 
What  an  outrage,  as  well  as  what  an  absurd  folly,  is  this  poi 
soning  of  dogs  at  this  season!  The  ladies  feel  this  most 
acutely,  and  I  am  very  sad  myself.  Poor  Mop  was  my  con 
stant  companion  in  my  library,  and  my  daily  attendant  in  my 
walks.  He  was  the  pet  of  the  ladies,  and  the  constant  object 
of  their  care  ;  had  so  many  winning  ways  ;  so  watchful  of  the 
notice  of  us  all,  and  seemed  so  proud  of  his  position  in  the 
family.  We  should  all  have  heard  of  the  death  of  our  coach 
horses  with  less  regret.  It  is  very  natural,  trivial  as  it  may 
seem,  that  his  loss  should  produce  so  much  emotion.  There 
is  something  so  shocking  in  the  thought  that  he  was  destroyed 
by  poison, — without  any  imaginable  pretext  for  such  an  as 
sault  upon  him.  Poor  Mop  !" 

Here  is  a  pleasant  account  of  a  visit,  with  Irving,  to  an  old 
Virginia  estate  where  some  historical  relics  and  local  peculiar 
ities  rewarded  their  observation  : 

Charlestown,  Va.,  Wednesday,  June  22,  1853. — We  drive 
this  morning  to  Audley,  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Washington  Lew 
is,  and  see  her  son,  who  married  Miss  Johnson,  of  Baltimore. 
The  distance  is  about  thirteen  miles.  Audley  is  in  Clark 
County,  an-  old  and  ample  country  establishment  built  by 
Warner  Washington  (not  of  the  General's  family),  and  sold  to 
Lorenzo  Lewis.  My  brother  had  prepared  the  family  to  ex 
pect  us,  as  Irving  had  written  tl  at  he  wished  to  examine  some, 
private  memorials  of  General  Washington's,  which  are  here. 
Mrs.  Lewis  brought  out  several  relics  of  the  General  for  our 


JOUBXALS.  359 

inspection,  among  them  his  shoe-buckles  and  those  of  the 
knee — gold  and  topaz.  We  saw,  also,  remains  of  his  china 
and  glass,  table  furniture.  The  most  interesting  subjects  were 
some  private  letters  of  the  General  written  in  1797  and  '98  to 
Lawrence  Lewis,  his  nephew.  In  one  of  these  he  apprised 
Lewis  of  his  purpose  to  leave  him  a  bequest  of  two  thousand 
acres,  part  of  Mount  Vernon,  which  he  gave  him  upon  his  mar 
riage  with  Nelly  Custis.  In  another  letter  he  speaks  of  some 
runaway  slaves,  and  says :  "  I  wish  the  State  of  Virginia  could 
see  the  wisdom  of -the  policy  of  adopting  measures  for  a  gradual 
abolition  of  Slavery."  This  is  in  the  letter  of  1797. 

We  saw,  also,  Washington's  ledger — a  very  large  folio, 
full  of  accounts.  Among  other  accounts  there  (they  are  all 
in  the  General's  handwriting)  is  one  headed  "  Accounts  of 
Cards  and  other  Games."  This  has  the  entries  of  three  years' 
(i772-'3-'4),  with  a  debtor  and  creditor  side.  His  winnings 
entered  on  one  side — thirteen  pounds,  the  highest  entry  there, 
— and  his  losing  on  the  other,  with  a  balance  struck  at  the 
end  of  three  years,  showing  a  loss  of  £6  and  some  shillings. 

There  is  also  an  account  for  the  education  of  the  son  of 
some  friend,— I  forget  the  name, — charging  £32,  I  think,  for 
the  expenditure  and  credit  on  the  opposite  page  with  the  en 
try,  "  By  my  promise  to  educate  his  son."  Singular  precision 
in  making  this  a  matter  of  business  ! 

This  Audley  estate  is  a  very  beautiful  one.  -Mrs.  Lewis 
was  Miss  Cox  of  Philadelphia,  and  is  now  a  widow.  Her  son 
Washington  married  Reverdy  Johnson's  daughter  about  twen 
ty  years  ago.  I  was  present  at  the  wedding.  -  Irving  is  quite 
enchanted  with  this  visit  to  the  valley  of  Virginia,  the  scenery 
of  which  keeps  him  in  a  continual  rapture  of  exclamation. 
We  have  a  pleasant  dinner  and  are  to  remain  here  all  night. 

Irving  is  curious  to  see  the  negro  establishment.  All  the 
blacks  he  has  seen  in  this  region  seem  to  be  so  well  off  and 
so  entirely  contented,  that  he  is  continually  laughing  at  Mrs. 
Beecher  Stowe's  sentimental  griefs  over  Uncle  Tom.  After 
dinner  he  and  I  stroll  to  the  stable,  where  there  are  a  few  cab- 


360  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

ins  to  be  seen  with  families  of  negroes.  One  old  fellow  named 
George,  I  believe,  is  seen  slowly  getting  over  a  fence.  He  is 
infirm  with  age  and  very  slow  in  his  motion.  He  has  some 
coopers'  tools  in  his  hand,  and  a  hoop.  As  he  comes  near  us, 
I  stop  him,  and  ask  his  name,  "  George,  massa." — "  What  do 
you  do,  George  ?" — "  I  am  a  cooper  ;  I  am  gwine  to  hoop  a  barl 
now."  He  is  very  well  clothed,  and  has  a  cheerful  air,  though 
showing  much  infirmity,  which  he  says  is  "  rheumatiz."  "Are 
you  married,  George  ?" — "Yes,  Fse  had  three  wives  in  my  time." 
— "  How  many  children  ?" — "  Seven,  if  I  knowed  where  they 
war.  But  not  any  by  my  wife  I  have  now.  I  am  alone  now." 
After  some  little  bragging  about  his  skill  in  coopering  in  times 
past,  he  leaves  us  and  hobbles  on  to  his  work.  Irving  and  I 
remained  sitting  on  a  log  in  the  yard,  as  George  limped  away. 
Irving,  looking  after  him  with  a  comic  smile,  says  to  me, 
"  That's  an  Uncle  Tom.  What  a  melancholy  story  !  so  infirm — 
doubtless  the  effects  of  severe  scourging, — then  that  express 
ion, — so  full  of  his  mournful  history — '  I  am  alone  now,'  lay 
ing  a  heavy,  sad  emphasis  on  alone,  and  looking  very  pathetic. 
And  '  I  have'  seven  children,  if  I  knew  where  they  war.' 
Poor  old  victim  of  oppression  !  What  a  volume  Mrs.  Stowe 
would  get  out  of  George!"  After  we  had  amused  ourselves 
in  making  up  some  items  of  melancholy  matter  out  of  George's 
short  interview,  and  imagining  the  framework  of  a  dismal  tale 
on  this  foundation,  we  returned  to  the  house  to  laugh  over  the 
story.  George  is  an  old  servant  of  the  family,  who  once  be 
longed  to  Judge  Bushrod  Washington, — is  a  privileged  magnate 
among  the  negroes,  and  spends  his  time,  now  and  then,  in 
the  exercise  of  his  old  craft,  so  far  as  the  supply  of  a  hoop  to 
a  barrel  will  allow,  and  living  a  loitering  life  between  his  cabin, 
where  his  old  wife  takes  good  care  of  him,  and  the  stable-yard 
in  looking  after  the  poultry  and  doing  such  jobs  as  an  old  fel 
low  of  seventy  might  attempt." 

We  have  a  glimpse  at  the  varied  interest  of  his  duties,  pas 
times  and  feelings  in  these  notes  taken  at  random  : 

May  6  —At  twelve  to-day  the  Board  of  Directors  of  the 


JOURNALS.  361 

Northern  Central  meet.  They  were  elected  while  I  was  in 
the  South,  and  unanimously  re-elected  me  President  against 
my  own  request  and  earnest  wish  to  be  relieved  from  it.  A 
committee  reported  this  election  to  me  this  morning ;  and  upon 
assembling  I  take  occasion  to  say  that  I  should  have  been 
gratified  if  they  had  made  another  choice, — explain  my  inabil 
ity  to  attend,  as  I  am  going  away,  and  hope  they  will  allow  me, 
in  accordance  with  the  by-laws,  to  appoint  a  President  pro  tern, 
to  whom  I  will  turn  over  my  salary.  The  Board  are  very  in 
dulgent.  They  pass  a  resolution  giving  me  leave  of  absence, 
and  comply  with  my  wishes  in  all  particulars. 

I  find  it  daily  more  important  to  methodize  my  time.  How 
will  this  do — during  my  sojourn  at  home,  at  least  ? 

Breakfast,  newspaper,  etc.,  until  ten.  Literary  occupation 
with  my  pen,  from  ten  till  two  ;  again  from  four  till  six.  Two 
hours'  reading  before  bed.  Bed  at  eleven.  The  two  hours' 
reading  to  be  historical, — to  read  one  book  at  a  time — that  is, 
until  it  is  finished.  Light  reading  when  I  can.  Saturdays — 
correspondence.  Sundays — Theology.  Try  that. 

April  ii. — I  go  at  six  to  dine  with  Winter  Davis.  Here  I 
find  what  I  have  not  seen  for  many  years,  a  bar  dinner-party. 
First,  Chief-Justice  Chase ;  then  Schley,  Judge  King,  Judge 

Bond,  Archie  Stirling,  Jr.,  M ,  Stockbridge,  Andrew  Ridge- 

ly,  Milligan,  Davis  and  his  wife.  We  have  a  good  dinner, — 
wine,  segars  and  all  sorts  of  professional  anecdotes, — the  reg 
ular  bar  traditions.  I  have  noticed  in  my  Life  of  Wirt,  de 
scribing  a  country  bar,  how  much  the  members  and  associa 
tions  of  the  profession  resemble  those  of  the  stage, — such 
stereotyped  jokes,  old  stories,  glorification  of  this  and  that 
lawyer  and  judge,  who  is  gone, — or  retired  from  work ; — a 
certain  kind  of  witticism  which  grows  out  of  the  habits  of  prac 
tice  ;  the  loud  laugh  all  around, — the  amazing  success  of  old 
puns, — and  other  evidences  of  the  large  amount  of  merriment 
produced  by  moderate  investment  of  capital.  There  was  some 
thing  strangely  pleasant  in  all  this,  to  me,  even  with  its  plat 
itudes,  which  came  upon  my  feelings  with  the  flavor  of  times 
16 


362  LIFE  OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

and  persons  long  ago, — all  of  whom  have  joined  the  comrades 
of  the  profession  in  another  world. 

Capon  Springs,  Aug.  13,  1855. — A  warm  day,  but  with  a 
most  pleasant  breeze  at  the  Pavilion  here,  which  never  fails. 
I  have  been  studying  my  German  very  diligently  ever  since 
I  came  here,  and  have  made  excellent  progress.  I  can 
read  it  pretty  well,  and  speak  it  a  little — enough  to  get  along 
comfortably  if  I  were  travelling  in  the  country  of  the  language. 
I  began  to  study  it  in  June,  and  in  less  than  a  month  acquired 
quite  a  good  stock  of  it.  My  determination  to  learn  some 
thing  of  the  language,  arose  out  of  an  accidental  meeting  I 
had  last  spring,  with  some  German  emigrants,  who  had  just 
arrived  in  Baltimore,  and  having  strolled  into  the  town,  had 
lost  their  way.  They  stopped  me  to  ask  me  something  (as  I 
could  make  out  only  by  their  gesticulations)  as  to  the  road 
back  to  their  ship.  I  was  ashamed  of  myself  when  I  found 
that  I  could  not  give  them  one  word  of  direction.  I  determined 
then  to  go  to  work  and  correct  this  mistake  of  my  education, 
which  I  have  now  done  pretty  well. 

Saratoga,  Aug.  7,  1864. — I  have  for  more  than  a  year  past 
determined  to  join  with  E.  and  M.  in  receiving  the  Sacrament 
of  the  Holy  Eucharist,  and  have  only  delayed  it  until  I  could 
fully  satisfy  my  mind  that  I  was  in  proper  accord  with  the 
Church  in  regard  to  the  fundamental  points  of  belief  upon 
which  I  conceived  it  necessary  to  determine  my  own  convic 
tion  ;  and  now  having  completely  satisfied  myself  on  these 
questions,  I  have  resolved  to  defer  my  purpose  no  longer.  I 
accordingly  go  with  E —  to-day  to  the  Episcopal  Church  here, 
and  with  her  hold  my  first  communion  under  the  ministration 
of  Mr.  Wainwright — son  of  Bishop  W." 


INTERCOURSE   WITH    AUTHORS.  363 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Intercourse    with   Authors ;   Thackeray ;   Cooper ;   Willis ;   Prescott 
and  others  :  Poe  ;  Cruse  ;  Irving. 

MR.  KENNEDY  had  a  strong  sympathy  witn  men  of  let 
ters  ;  he  constantly  assisted  and  encouraged  poor  au 
thors,  partly  because  he  loved  their  vocation  and,  in  no  small  de 
gree,  because  he  felt  that  his  own  prosperous  circumstances  gave 
them  a  claim  upon  his  kindness.  His  correspondence  shows 
a  wonderful  amount  of  patience  with  some  of  the  most  encroach 
ing  and  least  grateful  of  the  tribe,  and  also  the  greatest  rel 
ish  for  the  society  of  such  as  are  gentlemen  and  men  of  probi 
ty  as  well  as  writers.  He  took  a  warm  interest  in  the  literary 
success  of  his  friends ;  his  letters  to  them  overflow  with  cor 
dial  encouragement.  He  was  active  in  their  behalf,  and  gave  of 
his  time  and  means  freely  to  promote  their  objects ;  some  of 
his  most  characteristic  letters,  both  written  and  received,  be 
long  to  the  period  of  his  genial  intercourse  with  Irving,  Prescott, 
Thackeray,  Simms,  John  R.  Thompson,  Strother,  and  his  cous 
in  Philip  Pendleton  Cooke.  His  friendliness  was  neither  repell 
ed  by  hopeless  improvidence  or  absurd  complacency ;  yet  no 
man  was  better  aware  of  the  uncongenial  and  perverse  side  of 
the  craft  of  authorship.  In  a  letter  to  his  wife,  after  some 
irksome  experience  thereof,  he  says  :  "  I  think  the  tribe  author 
is  not  altogether  the  best  of  the  tribes  of  Israel.  There  is  a 
little  touch  of  Signor  de  Begnis  in  most  of  them — bravura  and 
voluntaries,  with  a  stretching  out  of  the  neck  for  applause. 
These  soldiers  of  the  quill  do  not,  I  fear,,  often  leave  me  great 
ly  prepossessed  with  my  comradeship.1' 

The  care  with  which  he  always  noted  every  item  of  literary 


304:  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

interest,  is  apparent  in  the  following  mention  of  Thackeray  and 
the  Bryant  festival : 

Washington,  Feb.  27, 1853. — Thackeray's  dinner  at  Boulan- 
ger's  was  very  pleasant.  We  staid  there  till  eleven.  To 
morrow  he  goes  south  to  Richmond  and  then  to  Charleston, 
S.  C.  I  gave  him  some  hints  to  make  a  journey  to  California, 
and  to  prepare  some  lectures  adapted  to  the  tastes  of  that  re 
gion.  He  received  this  idea  with  great  deliberation,  and,  in 
breaking  up  to-night,  he  told  me  I  had  made  him  a  fortune. 

Baltimore,  Jan.  15,  1856. — Thackeray  tells  me  he  is  going 
to  write  a  nov.el  with  the  incidents  of  our  revolution  intro 
duced  into  it.  To  give  him  some  information  he  is  seeking  with 
this  view,  I  lend  him  some  books  ; — "  Graydon's  Memoirs  of  the 
Revolution  ;"  Heath's  Memoirs  "  and  "  Garden's  Anecdotes," 
which  he  takes  away  with  him;  I  tell  him  he  may  keep  them 
as  long  as  he  wishes,  and  may  return  them  to  me  hereafter. 

Baltimore,  Jan.  16,  1856. — I  go  to  hear  Thackeray's  fourth 
lecture  on  George  IV. — gossippy  and  anecdotal  like  the  others. 
After  the  lecture  I  walked  up  with  him,  Merrison,  Harris  and 
Bradenbaugh.  Harris,  having  come  over  from  the  House  of 
Representatives,  had  had  no  dinner,  so  he  proposed  we 
should  all  go  to  Guy's  and  get  an  oyster,  which  we  did,  and 
had  a  pleasant  session  till  after  midnight.  While  we  were  at 
table,  Bradenbaugh,  who  is  president  of  the  Mercantile  Library 
Association,  and  therefore  had  the  superintendence  of  Thack 
eray's  receipts  for  the  lectures,  went  out  and  got  the  account  and 
presented  it  to  him.  It  was  a  dollar  or  so  above  one  thousand 
dollars,  for  the  four  nights.  Thackeray  told  me  that  Boston  gave 
him  fifteen  hundred,  New  York  fourteen  hundred,  and  Philadel 
phia  fifteen  hundred,  which,  with  this  one  thousand,  make  a  total 
of  five  thousand  four  hundred  dollars  for  four  Courses  of  these 
light  and  playful  lectures — pretty  good  pay  !  He  is  going  on 
South,  and  will  perhaps  treble  this  amount  before  he  gets  back. 

New  York,  Nov.  3, 1864. — We  have  determined  to  set  out  for 
Home  to-day,  although  I  have  been  strongly  solicited  by  Tuck- 
erman  and  Bancroft  to  remain  over  Saturday,. that  I  might  at- 


INTERCOURSE   WITH    AUTHORS.  3G5 

tend  a  meeting  of  the  poets  and  literati  of  the  country,  who  are 
to  assemble  here,  on  that  evening,  to  celebrate,  by  a  festival, 
Bryant's  seventieth  birthday.  How  near  he  is  to  my  own  age 
— only  one  year  ahead  of  me  !  I  am  obliged  to  decline  this 
invitation,  because  I  am  specially  desirous  to  be  at  home  in 
time  to  vote  for  Mr.  Lincoln,  next  Tuesday,  which  I  fear  an 
accident  might  prevent  if  I  remain  here  till  Monday." 
Here  we  have  a  pleasant  glimpse  of  Cooper : 
"  During  our  stay  at  Sharon  we  made  a  visit  to  Cooperstown 
on  the  Otsego  Lake, — a  beautiful  village  sheltered  beneath  the 
mountains  which  encompass  the  lake,  and  about  twenty-two 
miles  from  Sharon.  Our  plan  proposed  that  we  should  pass 
the  night  at  the  village  and  return  the  next  day  to  dinner.  We 
reached  the  village  about  one  o'clock.  The  weather  had  been 
very  pleasant,  but  clouds  had  risen  over  the  lake  towards  the 
end  of  our  journey,  and  were  producing  all  manner  of  beautiful 
varieties  of  landscape  as  they  alternately  lowered  with  a  stormy 
darkness  upon  the  mountains  and  the  lake,  and  broke  again 
before  the  sudden  sunshine.  We  reached  our  little  hotel — the 
Eagle,  I  believe, — whatever  its  name  it  was  the  wrong  house, — 
we  ought  to  have  gone  to  the  Otsego — in  time  for  a  tolerable 
dinner,  and  still  mo-re  opportunely,  to  escape  a  shower  which 
came  and  went  almost  in  the  first  half  hour  of  our  arrival. 

After  dinner,  the  ladies  (Mrs  K.  and  her  sister)  determined 
to  make  an  excursion  to  "  The  Vision," — the  mountain  top  de 
scribed  in  "  The  Pioneers,"  and  which  was  within  a  mile,  or  little 
more,  of  the  town.  Mr.  Gray  and  I  were  smoking  our  segars 
in  the  porch,  when  I  saw  Cooper  drive  into  the  neighborhood 
with  a  very  rustic  looking  buggy,  an  equally  rustic  horse,  him 
self  more  rustical  than  either.  He  stopped  at  the  door  of  a 
house  hard  by,  and  I  went  to  him.  He  was  pleased  to  see 
me,  and  immediately  came  to  the  hotel  and  visited  the  ladies. 
Finding  what  they  had  in  hand,  he  resolved  that  his  daughters 
should  call  and  see  us,  and  accompany  us  to  the  mountain. 
To  save  them  the  trouble  of  a  walk,  and  to  gain  time,  we  took 
Cooper's  suggestion,  and  went  with  him  to  his  own  house,  that 


3G6  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

being  in  the  direct  course  to  the  mountain.  Here  we  found  his 
wife  and  daughters,  in  that  fine  old  building  in  the  centre  of 
the  town,  looking  immediately  up  the  lake — which  he  calls  "The 
Hall."  His  carriage  was  soon  at  the  door,  and  his  two  daugh 
ters  with  our  two  ladies  go  into  it.  Mr.  Gray  determined  to 
forego  this  excursion,  and  to  remain  behind  in  the  library  un 
til  we  returned.  Cooper  and  I  took  the  rustical  buggy  which 
he  drove,  and  away  we  went.  Cooper  was  gay,  and  his  daugh 
ters  extremely  kind  and  obliging.  We  saw  "  The  Vision"  and 
all  its  appurtenances.  The  sky  had  again  become  overcast, 
and  we  were  about  to  retire  down  the  mountain,  when  Cooper 
insisted  we  should  go  farther  and  see  "  The  Prospect,"  and 
then  visit  "  The  Chalet,"  a  little  rough  mountain  farm  high  up, 
and  not  far  from  where  we  were.  Within  a  half  mile  of  "  The 
Prospect"  we  had  to  abandon  the  carriages  and  go  afoot. 
When  we  reached  the  rock  which  Cooper  called k<  The  Prospect," 
a  severe  gust  and  heavy  rain  was  seen  mantling  the  upper  end 
of  the  lal$;e  in  darkness,  and  this  came  like  a  curtain,  rapidly 
descending  over  all  things  before  us,  until  in  a  few  minutes 
"  The  Prospect"  afforded  nothing  to  our  view  but  a  few  tree  tops 
immediately  below  the  rock.  All  the- world  beside  was  shut 
out.  Then  came  the  rain  and  the  wind, — the  one  in  torrents, 
the  other  in  hurricane.  We  had  four  cotton  umbrellas,  which 
served  only  to  sift  the  rain  into  a  finer  mist,  as  it  fell  upon 
those  who  fancied  there  was  some  shelter  beneath  them,  and 
collected  into  as  many  jets  as  there  were  whalebones  in  the 
frame, — bestowing  these  liberally  upon  the  ladies1  skirts. 
Cooper  and  I  took  the  tempest  at  defiance,  and  as  soon  as  we 
found  our  whole  party  completely  drenched,  we  proposed  a  . 
homeward  journey.  We  were  soon  again  upon  the  road, 
stowed  away  in  wet  carriages  with  wet  clothes,  and  our  four 
umbrellas  like  four  reservoirs  containing  an  inexhaustible 
supply  of  drippings  for  the  rest  of  the  journey.  "  The  Chalet" 
was  left  for  some  other  day. 

We  drove  again  to  "  The  Hall."  I  went  in  quest  of  dry  shoes 
for  the  ladies.     We  had  all  come  from  Sharon  with  no  extra 


INTERCOURSE    WITH    AUTHORS.  307 

clothing,  except  what  was  necessary  for  the  night.  I  was 
lucky  enough  to  find  a  shoemaker  who  took  a  dozen  pairs  of 
shoes  to  Mrs.  K.  and  her  sister  to  choose  from,  and  who  sup 
plied  me  with  a  pair  for  myself.  I  got  a  great  coat  and  a  pair 
of  dry  stockings  and  then  went  to  Cooper's.  Here  I  found  our 
ladies  in  a  species  of  masquerade  supplied  from  the  wardrobe 
of  the  ladies  of  "  The  Hall."  Cooper  and  his  daughters,  in  defer 
ence  to  us,  had  put  on  an  undress  which,  together  with  our  own 
grotesque  habits,  gave  an  air  of  ease  and  good-humor  as  well  as 
oddity  to  our  assemblage,  most  favorable  to  pleasant  and  famil 
iar  acquaintance.  Every  one  was  in  the  best  spirits — the  ad 
venture  of  the  afternoon  had  done  more  for  good-fellowship 
than  a  dozen  ordinary  meetings  could  have  procured.  Cooper 
was  in  his  happiest  mood — he  told  all  manner  of  stories  and 
brought  out  all  his  pleasantries,  gave  some  very  minute  par 
ticulars  of  his  experience  in  mesmerism,  to  which  he  had  re 
cently  became  a  convert;  reminded  me  of  his  incredulity  on 
this  subject  when  he  and  I,  the  year  before,  had  met  at 
Lea  and  Blanchard's,  in  Philadelphia.  He  showed  us  many 
little  matters  of  interest  in  his  library, — his  pictures,  auto 
graphs,  etc. 

At  ten  o'clock  we  parted.  The  ladies  had  been  restored 
to  their  garments  which  were  now  completely  dry,  and  we  re- 
. turned  to  our  lodgings,  greatly  delighted  with  the  Cooper  fam 
ily,  "  The  Hall,"  "  The  Vision,"  "  The  Prospect,"  and  with  a 
grateful  remembrance  of  the  storm.  No  colds  or  other  ail 
ments  followed.  We  slept  well,  and  the  next  morning  after 
breakfast,  set  out  on  our  return  to  Sharon,  under  a  heaven  rich 
with  the  peculiar  glories  of  a  summer  day  in  that  beautiful 
region." 

"  The  sheet  of  newspaper  from  which  the  scrap  announcing 
the  marriage  of  my  father  and  mother,  is  cut  off,"  writes  Mr. 
Kennedy,  "  was  sent  to  me  by  N.  P.  Willis,  from  Idlewild  ; 
he  having  a  file  of  this  paper,  of  which  his  father  was  the  ed 
itor,  and  where  he  accidentally  saw  this  announcement."  He 
thus  acknowledges  its  receipt : 


308  LIFE   OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  March  4, 1852. 
To  N.  P.  WILLIS,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  WILLIS  : — Thanks  for  that  old  memento.  I  did 
not  know  we  were  so  nearly  related.  Martinsburg  is  the  scene 
of  all  my  early  and  now  of  my  latest  associations  of  kindred. 
My  mother  yet  lives  in  the  house  in  which  she  was  married  ; 
and  Willis  is  one  of  the  most  familiar  names  to  my  ear.  I 
should  "  by  rights,"  as  they  say,  have  been  born  in  Martins- 
burg,  but  for  the  accident,  I  suppose,  that  my  mother  thought 
it  more  desirable  to  have  the  matter  transacted  at  home — 
her  new  home — and  to  visit  her  parents  after  that  remark 
able  event,  rather  than  before  it,  as  most  ladies  would  'have 
done. 

This  yoice,  coming  up  out  of  our  antiquity,  shows,  too,  where 
"  Melanie  and  other  poems"  had  their  first  germ.      It  is  quite 
worth  noticing  how  much  posterity  has  improved  in  metre. 
"May  all  the  honor,  sense,  the  bliss  virtue  can  yield." 

That's  a  line  for  two  generations  to  work  upon.  It  required 
two  to  get  over  that  old  rough  ground,  into  such  a  beautiful 
railroad  as  the  latter  day  has  produced. 

Have  you  ever  been  in  Martinsburg  ?  Do  you  know  that 
you  dine  there  on  the  railroad  line  to  Columbus  from  Balti 
more  ?  An  hour's  ride  from  there — five  hours  from  this  city 
— takes  you  to  one  of  the  pleasantest  watering-places  in  the 
United  States, — the  Berkeley  Springs, — famous  in  days  of  old 
as  the  summer  resort  of  Washington,  Lord  Fairfax,  and  sun 
dry  others  who  had  private  houses  there.  Now,  I  propose  to 
you  that  next  summer,  when  you  shall  have  got  home  from 
Bermuda,  spick-and-span  in  the  matter  of  new  health,  that  you 
should  visit  that  region,  and  revive  those  ancient  impressions 
which  your  germ  or  atom — or  possibility — must  have  received 
when  your  grandfather  was  developing  the  poetic  elements 
which  have  since  expanded  so  happily.  It  is  a  fine  mountain 
country,  abounding  in  beautiful  landscape  and  still  more  with 
pleasant  people. 


INTERCOURSE    WITH    AUTHORS. 

I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  so  much  of  your  bad  health  this 
winter.  You  work  too  much,  and  are  quite  too  much  persecu 
ted  even  for  fame.  I  trust  you  will  reform  your  habits  in  both 
particulars,  and  content  yourself  with  a  reasonable  share  of 
tribulation  hereafter.  A  pleasant  voyage  to  you,  and  a  re 
turn  in  perfect  health.  Remember  us  all  here  very  kindly 
to  your  wife  and  Mr.  GrinnelPs  family,  and  believe  me,  my 
dear  Willis,  Very  truly  yours, 

J.  P.  KENNEDY. 

Two  of  his  letters  to  Prescott  illustrate  his  warm  regard 
for  the  historian : 

BALTIMORE,  April  24, 1853. 
W.  H.  PRESCOTT,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  PRESCOTT  : — I  am  greatly  delighted  by  that  pleas 
ant  memorial  of  the  engraved  portrait,  which  came  safely  to 
hand  two  days  after  your  note  announcing  your  kind  remem 
brance  of  me.  It  has  gone  to  the  carver's  for  a  handsome 
frame,  and  will  soon  take  its  place  among  my  /ares,  where  you 
are,  in  many  forms,  an  ever-present  figure.  The  ladies  make 
somewhat  emphatic  comments  on  the  youthfulness  of  the  pic 
ture,  and  say  you  wear  very  well  considering  your  labor  ;  and 
all  agree  that  the  likeness  is  excellent,  and  a  most  encour 
aging  provocative  to  a  summer  excursion  to  England,  where 
good  cheer  brings  so  happy  an  aspect. 

I  wish  I  could  find  so  pleasant  a  restorative  for  myself  just 
now  ;  for  I  have  come  home  from  Washington, — a  spent  rock 
et, — sadly  out  of  repair  by  a  winter's  work.  But  I  have  great 
faith  in  idleness  and  vagrancy,  and  hope,  by  these  virtues,  to 
bring  myself  into  condition '  once  more  for  the  good  fellows 
whose  association  I  gave  up  for  the  frivolities  of  state.  If  in 
the  pursuit  of  the  regimen  I  should  cross  your  frontier,  I  "shall 
not  fail  to  thank  you,  in  person,  for  your  most  acceptable 
present.  Very  truly,  my  dear  Prescott, 

Your  friend, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 
1 6* 


370  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


BALTIMORE,  Feb.  10, 1856. 
To  W.  H.  PRESCOTT,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  PRESCOTT  : — Some  three  or  four  weeks  ago  a 
friend  in  New  York  wrote  to  me  to  advise  me  of  a  packet  of 
pamphlets  he  had  sent  to  me  by  the  express,  which  packet 
reached  me  the  day  after  I  got  his  letter.  The  parcel  consisted 
of  two  bundles  tied  up  together.  Having  in  the  interval,  be 
tween  the  date  of  the  arrival,  and  a  few  days  ago,  distributed 
the  upper  bundle,  I  had  occasion  to  open  the  second,  when, 
to  my  surprise,  I  found  your  two  volumes  of  Philip  the  Second, 
with  a  kind  inscription  on  the  fly  leaf  from  yourself.  There 
they  had  been  lying,  in  a  corner  of  my  library,  for  nearly  a 
month,  wondering,  I  suppose,  if  books  ever  do  such  a  human 
thing,  why  I  had  not  released  them  from  bondage  and  given 
them  the  honors  to  which  they  were  entitled.  And,  I  dare 
say,  you  were  in  a  more  authentic  state  of  admiration,  which, 
by  this  time,  must  be  verging  upon  discontent,  at  my  neglect 
to  tell  you  how  much  I  prized  this  friendly  attention.  For, 
certainly,  you  could  not  have  done  me  a  higher  honor,  or  con 
ferred  upon  me  a  more  acceptable  favor,  than  by  such  a  pleas 
ant  remembrance  as  this.  I  receive  them  as  I  would  your 
children,  with  a  special  hospitality,  and  have  already  given 
them  their  lodging,  with  all  the  rest  of  their  family,  on  the 
warmest  and  pleasantest  shelf  in  my  library ;  and  having  so 
disposed  of  them,  I  turn  to  you,  my  dear  Prescott,  with  a  heart 
full  of  thanks,  not  only  for  the  present  of  the  books,  but  for 
the  grace  you  have  done  the  world  in  writing  them.  It  is  one 
of  the  many  benefactions  for  which  posterity  will  thank  you, 
even  more  than  the  present  age. 

I  had  procured  a  copy  of  the  work  before  your  arrival,  and 
had  begun  the  reading  of  it,  when  I  was  forced  into  the  prep 
aration  of  a  lecture  for  our  Institute,  at  which  I  worked  so 
assiduously  till  midnight  for  some  weeks,  that  I  brought  on  a 
weakness  of  eyesight,  which,  for  the  present,  compels  me  to 
abstain  from  any  thing  like  continuous  study,  and  has  so  inter- 


INTERCOURSE   WITH    AUTHORS.  371 

rupted  my  progress  that  I  am  now  halting  in  the  train  of  a 
beautiful  princess,  with  an  old  knight  for  whom  I  have  a  great 
esieem,  "  because  he  was  said  to  have  the  best  library  and  the 
best  steed  of  any  gentleman  in  Castile."  Without  meaning 
any  disparagement  of  its  history,  I  think  Philip  the  Second 
•much  the  best  romance  of  our  times.  Thackeray  saw  it  on 
my  table,  and  told  me  he  had  spent  nearly  all  night  upon  it 
and  thought  it  the  most  delightful  reading  to  be  found  in  our 
literature. 

To  me  it  is  the  more  pleasant  for  the  association  it  is  con 
stantly  suggesting  of  my  esteem  for'the  author. 
Very  truly,  my  dear  Prescott, 

Your  friend, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

His  pleasant  relations  with  his  literary  friends  are  indicated 
by  the  following  casual  letters  : 

BALTIMORE,  May  8tli,  1852. 
To  W.  GILMORE  SIMMS,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  SIMMS  : — I  have  been  intending  every  day  for 
the  last  fortnight,  to  acknowledge  yours  of  the  5th  of  April  ;  but 
I  am  as  completely  broken  up  by  the  confinement  of  the  long 
winter  just  gone  by,  and  so  broken  down  by  the  engagements 
which  have  pressed  upon  me  during  all  this  spring  time,  that  I 
have  almost  determined  to  forswear  pen  ink  and  paper.  My 
health  is  feeble,  without  being  actually  bad,  and  I  am  ordered 
by  my  physician  to  take  to  the  woods  on  horseback,  which  I 
do  with  the  earnestness  of  the  Black  Horseman,  of  the  Hartz 
forest.  I  am  just  making  my  preparation  for  my  ordinary  sum 
mer  vagrancy.  I  have  got  my  fishing-tackle  out,  and  I  wait  but 
a  few  matters  of  business  before  I  set  out  for  the  Alleghany  to 
catch  trout ;  and  after  that  I  suppose  I  shall  migrate  towards 
the  White  Mountains,  and  so  on  till  I  am  called  back  to  win 
ter-quarters.  You  perceive  that  this  programme,  as  well  as  this 
state  of  the  case,  constitutionally  speaking,  utterly  excludes  the 


372  LIFE    OF    JOHN    1*.   KENNEDY. 

idea  of  any  work  for  a  few  months.  But  I  hope  when  I  resume, 
that  I  shall  be  in  a  condition  to  give  you  some  token,  first,  of 
my  sympathy  in  your  labors,  and  second,  of  material  aid  to 
wards  lessening  them: 

I  have  just  got  Horse-Shoe  out  in  a  ponderous  volume,  and 
I  shall  direct  Putnam  forthwith  to  send  you  a  copy,  which  you 
will  receive  with  my  kindest  regard.  I  have  given  a  little  per 
sonal  adventure  in  the  introduction  to  this  edition  which  is  a 
true  history  of  my  acquaintance  with  my  hero.  Remember 
me  to  Bryan  and  Trescott,  and  believe  me, 

Ever  and  truly  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

PATAPSCO,  ELLICOTT'S  MILLS,  July  4, 1857. 
To  JOHN  R.  THOMPSON,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  THOMPSON. — I  have  had  no  time  till  now  to  ac 
knowledge  the  kindness  of  your  note  of  the  9th  of  May,  which 
brought  me  that  curious  solution  of  the  question  of  Talbot's 
fate  in  the  MS.  scrap  you  enclosed.  In  the  interval  of  this 
delay,  I  have  made  two  journeys,  and,  what  is  still  more  com 
pulsory  as  a  disablement  from  writing,  I  have  gone  through  the 
process  of  dismantling  one  residence  and  stuffing  another  with 
the  debris, — having  "given  up" — which  means  final  relinquish- 
ment  with  its  attendant  evacuation,  of  the  lumber  of  fifteen 
years — my  house  in  Calvert  Street,  and  surrendered  my  lease, 
and  moved  here  with  all  and  sundry  into  the  country.  Then 
we  had  that  terrible  affliction  of  the  death  of  our  good  friend 
Stanard — and  a  subsequent  meeting  here  with  Mrs.  Stanard, 
who  spent  one  night  with  us  on  her  way  west : — so  I  could 
not  write  till  now. 

The  stray  MS.  leaf  you  have  sent  me,  I  now  return  to 
you  with  this,  as  you  directed.  I  have  made  a  copy  of  it  for 
future  use.  It  is  conclusive  on  the  point  of  the  trial  and  sen 
tence,  the  reprieve,  and,  inferentially  of  the  pardon  by  the 
king,  which  I  have  no  doubt  was  given. 

I  wrote  a  year  ago  to  Macaulay,  in  London,  for  some  infor- 


INTERCOURSE    WITH    AUTHORS.  373 

mation  on  the  issue,  knowing  how  deeply  he  had  gone  into  the 
history  of  the  Talbots  in  his  pursuit  of  "  Lying  Dick."  He 
answered  to  say,  that,  not  being  able  to  satisfy  me  himself, 
he  had  put  a  query  to  the  point  I  desired,  in  the  Notes  and 
Queries,  and,  when  I  saw  him  afterwards  in  London,  he  had 
got  no  response.  But  this  old  rat-nibbled  paper  settles  it,  for 
which  I  thank  you,  my  dear  T.,  with  all  my  heart.  Mrs.  K. 
and  I  are  going  over  again  in  August.  Can  I  do  any  thing  for 
you  ?  Have  you  repaired  that  loss  of  your  book  by  fire  ?  If  you 
have  what  a  Phoenix  of  a  book,  as  the  —  —  say,  it  will  be  !  Mrs. 
K.  and  I  send  you  all  kind  wishes. 

Yours  ever, 

J.  P.  K. 

Edgar  Poe's  biographer  thus  describes  Mr.  Kennedy's 
first  acquaintance  with  him  and  the  results  : 

"  An  offer  by  the  proprietor  of  the  Baltimore  Saturday 
Visitor  "  of  two  prizes,  one  for  the  best  tale  and  one  for  the 
best  poem,  induced  him  to  submit  the  pieces  entitled — "  MS. 
Found  in  a  Bottle,"  "Lionizing,"  " The  Visionary,"  and 
three  others,  with  "  The  Coliseum — a  Poem  "  to  the  committee, 
which  consisted  of  Mr.  John  P.  Kennedy,  Mr.  J.  B.  Latrobe 
and  Dr.  James  H.  Miller.  Such  matters  are  usually  disposed 
of  in  a  very  off-hand  way;  so  it  would  have  been,  perhaps,  in 
this  case,  but  that  one  of  the  committee  taking  up  a  little 
book,  remarkably  beautiful  and  distinct  in  caligraphy,  was 
tempted  to  read  several  pages ;  and  becoming  interested, 
summoned  the  attention  of  the  company  to  the  half  dozen 
compositions  it  contained.  It  was  unanimously  decided  that 
the  prizes  should  be  paid  to  "  the  first  of  geniuses  who  had 
written  legibly."  Immediately  the  confidential  envelope  was 
opened  and  the  successful  competitor  was  found  to  bear  the 
scarcely  known  name  of  Poe.  This  award  was  published  on 
the  twelfth  of  October,  1833.  The  next  day  the  publisher 
called  to  see  Mr.  Kennedy  and  gave  him  an  account  of  the 
author  which  excited  his  curiosity  and  sympathy,  and  caused 


374  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

him  to  request  that  he  should  be  brought  to  his  office;  accord 
ingly  he  was  introduced ;  the  prize-money  had  not  yet  been 
paid  and  he  was  in  the  costume  in  which  he  had  answered  the 
advertisement  of  his  good  fortune.  Thin  and  pale  even  to 
ghastliness,  his  whole  appearance  indicated  sickness  and  the 
utmost  destitution.  A  well-worn  frock  coat  concealed  the 
want  of  a  shirt;  and  imperfect  boots  disclosed  the  absence  of 
hose.  But  the  eyes  of  the  young  man  were  luminous  with- 
intelligence  and  feeling,  and  his  voice,  conversation  and  man 
ners  all  won  upon  the  lawyer's  regard.  Poe  told  his  story 
and  his  ambition;  and  it  was  determined  that  he  should  not 
want  means  for  a  suitable  appearance  in  society,  nor  oppor 
tunity  for  a  just  display  of  his  abilities  in  literature.  Mr. 
Kennedy  accompanied  him  to  a  clothing  store  and  purchased 
for  him  a  respectable  suit,  with  changes  of  linen,  and  sent  him 
to  a  bath,  from  which  he  returned  with  the  suddenly  regained 
style  of  a  gentleman.'7  His  new  friend  introduced  him  to  the 
editor  of  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger,  by  whom  he  was 
soon  engaged  as  a  contributor,  and  subsequently,  for  a  limited 
period,  had  the  general  supervision  of  that  then  prosperous 
periodical.  He  was,  however,  discontented  with  his  life  at 
Richmond,  and  Mr.  Kennedy  thus  wisely  and  kindly  remon 
strated  with  his  gifted  ljut  wayward  protege :  "  I  am  sorry  to 
see  you  in  such  a  plight  as  your  letter  shows  you  in.  It  is 
strange  that  just  at  this  time,  when  everybody  is  praising  you, 
and  when  fortune  is  beginning  to  smile  upon  your  hitherto 
wretched  circumstances,  you  should  be  invaded  by  those  blue 
devils.  It  belongs,  however,  to  your  age  and  temper  to  be 
thus  buffeted  ;  but,  be  assured,  it  only  wants  a  little  resolution 
to  master  the  adversary  forever.  You  will,  doubtless,  do  well 
henceforth  in  literature,  and  add  to  your  comforts  as  well  as 
your  reputation,  which  it  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  assure 
you  is  everywhere  rising  in  popular  esteem.'' 

The  unfortunate  habits  of  Poe  continued  to  mar  the  best 
influence  of  his  friends  and  the  legitimate  results  of  his 
prosperous  authorship ;  the  patient  and  judicious  interest 


INTERCOURSE    WITH    AUTHORS.  375 

which  Mr.  Kennedy,  and  so  many  others,  manifested  in  his 
behalf,  proved  unavailing,  and  on  his  way  to  New  York,  in 
the  autumn  of  1849,  ne  stopped  at  a  tavern  in  his  native  city, 
and,  meeting  an  acquaintance  who  invited  him  to  drink,  "  in  a 
few  hours,"  says  his  biographer,  "  he  was  in  such  a  state  as 
is  commonly  produced  by  long-continued  intoxication,  and, 
after  a  night  of  insanity  and  exposure,  he  was  carried  to  a 
hospital  ;  and  there,  on  the  evening  of  Sunday,  October  lyth, 
1849,  he  died  at  the  age  of  thirty-eight  years." 

Two  of  Poe's  letters  to  Mr.  Kennedy  are  so  characteristic 
of  his  improvidence  and  his  need  of  self-reliance,  that  they 
deserve  a  place  in  the  supplementary  illustrations  of  the  "  In 
firmities  of  Genius."  The  first  is  a  note,  written  in  the  author's 
usual  neat  and  careful  style,  in  answer  to  a  hospitable  mes 
sage  :  "  Your  invitation  to  dinner  has  wounded  me  to  the 
quick.  I  cannot  come  for  reasons  of  the  most  humiliating 
nature— my  personal  appearance.  You  may  imagine  my  mor 
tification  in  making  this  disclosure  to  you,  but  it  is  necessary." 

RICHMOND,  Sept.  11, 1835. 

DEAR  SIR  : — I  received  a  letter  yesterday  from  Dr.  Miller, 
in  which  he  tells  me  you  are  in  town.  I  hasten,  therefore,  to 
write  you,  and  express  by  letter  what  I  have  always  found  it  im 
possible  to  express  orally — my  deep  sense  of  gratitude  for  your 
frequent  and  ineffectual  assistance  and  kindness.  Through 
your  influence  Mr.  White  has  been  induced  to  employ  me  in 
assisting  him  with  the  editorial  duties  of  his  Magazine  at  a  salary 
of  five  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  per  annum.  The  situation 
is  agreeable  to  me  for  many  reasons, — but  alas  !  it  appears  to 
me  that  nothing  can  now  give  me  pleasure  or  the  slightest 
gratification.  Excuse  me,  my  dear  sir,  if  in  this  letter  you 
find  much  incoherency.  My  feelings  at  this  moment  are  pit 
iable  indeed.  I  am  suffering  under  a  depression  of  spirits, 
such  as  I  have  never  felt  before.  I  have  struggled  in  vain 
against  the  influence  of  this  melancholy  ;  you  will  believe  me, 
when  I  say  that  I  am  still  miserable  in  spite  of  the  great  improve 
ment  in  my  circumstances.  I  say  you  will  believe  me,  and  for 
this  simple  reason,  that  a  man  who  is  writing  for  effect  does  not 
write  thus.  My  heart  is  open  before  you, — if  it  be  worth  read 
ing,  read  it.  I  am  wretched,  and  know  not  why.  Console  me, 


376  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY 

—for  you  can.  But  let  it  be  quickly,  or  it  will  be  too  late. 
Write  me  immediately.  Convince  me  that  it  is  worth  one's 
while — that  it  is  at  all  necessary  to  live,  and  you  will  prove  your 
self  indeed  my  friend.  Persuade  me  to  do  what  is  right.  I 
do  mean  this.  I  do  not  mean  that  you  should  consider  what 
I  now  write  you  a  jest.  Oh,  pity  me  !  for  I  feel  that  my  words 
are  incoherent ;  but  I  will  recover  myself.  You  will  not  fail 
to  see  that  I  am  suffering  under  a  depression  of  spirits  which 
will  ruin  me  should  it  be  long  continued.  Write  me  then,  and 
quickly — urge  me  to  do  what  is  right.  Your  words  will  have 
more  weight  with  me  than  the  words  of  others,  for  you  were 
my  friend  when  no  one  else  was.  Fail  not,  as  you  value  your 
peace  of  mind  hereafter.  E.  A.  POE. 

Mr.  Kennedy  writes  in  his  journal  on  Wednesday,  Octo 
ber  10,  1849  : 

On  Sunday  last  Edgar  A.  Poe  died  in  town  here  at  the  hos 
pital  from  the  effects  of  a  debauch.  He  had  been  to  Richmond, 
was  returning  to  New  York,  where  he  lived,  and  I  understood, 
was  soon  to  be  married  to  a  lady  in  Richmond  of  quite  good 
fortune.  He  fell  in  with  some  companion  here  who  seduced 
him  to  the  bottle,  which  it  was  said,  he  had  renounced  some 
time  ago.  The  consequence  was  fever,  delirium  and  madness, 
and  in  a  few'days  a  termination  of  his  sad  career  in  the  hospi 
tal.  Poor  Poe  !  He  was  an  original  and  exquisite  poet,  and 
one  of  the  best  prose  critics  in  this  country.  His  works  are 
among  the  very  best  of  their  kind.  His  taste  was  replete  with 
classical  flavor,  and  he  wrote  in  the  spirit  of  an  old  Greek  phi 
losopher. 

It  is  many  years  ago,  I  think  perhaps  as  early  as  1833  or 
'34,  that  I  found  him  in  Baltimore  in  a  state  of  starvation.  I 
gave  him  clothing,  free  access  to  my  table  and  the  use  of  a  horse 
for  exercise  whenever  he  chose;  in  fact  brought  him  up 'from 
the  very  verge  of  despair.  I  then  got"  him  employment  with  Mr. 
White,  in  one  department  of  the  editorship  of  the  Southern  Lit 
erary  newspaper  at  Richmond.  His  talents  made  that  periodi 
cal  quite  brilliant  while  he  was  connected  with  it.  But  he  was 
irregular,  eccentric,  and  querulous,  and  soon  gave  up  his  place 


INTERCOURSE    WITH    AUTHORS.  ^><7 

for  other  employments  of  the  same  character  in  Philadelphia 
and  New  York.  His  destiny  in  these  places  was  as  sad  and 
fickle  as  in  Richmond.  He  always  remembered  my  kindness 
with  gratitude,  as  his  many  letters  to  me  testify.  He  is  gone — 
a  bright  but  unsteady  light  has  been  awfully  quenched." 

Of  the  youthful  literary  friends  of  Mr.  Kennedy,  we  have 
already  alluded  to  one  who  was  associated  with  his  first  pub 
lic  experiments  as  an  author. 

Peter  Hoffman  Cruse  fell  a  victim  to  the  cholera  in  1832  ; 
born  in  Baltimore  in  1798,  he  was  educated  at  Princeton  Col 
lege,  N.  J.,  and  after  being  graduated  studied  law  ;  but  like  so 
many  other  aspirants  for  literary  culture,  was  beguiled  by  na 
tive  taste  therefor,  from  serious  devotion  to  a  professional  ca 
reer.  During  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life  he  contributed  to 
the  periodical  literature  of  the  day,  and  was,  for  a  considerable 
period,  editor  of  the  Baltimore  American.  He  was  endowed 
with  rare  humor  and  a  classical  taste ;  his  conversation  was 
animated  and  interesting,  and  it  is  easy  to  recognize  these 
qualities  in  his  writings.  "  Cruse,"  says  Mr.  Kennedy,  in 
quoting  from  a  biographical  sketch  of  Wirt  from  the  pen  of 
that  gentleman,  "  was  a  finished  scholar,  of  exquisite  taste,  and 
gifted  with  talents  which  would  have  secured  him  an  enviable 
eminence  in  the  literature  of  the  country." 

"  More  than  any  other  of  his  cotemporaries,"  says  an  able 
critic,  "  Mr.  Kennedy  resembles  Washington  Irving.  He  has 
much  of  his  graceful  expression  and  cheerful  philosophy,  with 
more  than  he  of  the  constructive  faculty." 

This  resemblance,  which  was  at  once  observed  in  the  lite 
rary  characteristics  of  Washington  Irving  and  Mr.  Kennedy, 
was  but  a  reflex  of  a  natural  affinity  between  them,  not  only 
in  mind,  but  in  temperament  and  character.  They  took  to 
each  other  on  first  acquaintance,  and  this  soon  ripened  into 
friendship.  Endowed  by  nature  with  rare  geniality  of  dispo 
sition,  having  historical  tastes  and  a  refined  ideal  of  expres 
sion,  they  were  also  both  men  of  quiet  and  ready  humor  and 
warm  affections.  The  similarity  in  style  and  method  between 


378  LIFE    OF    JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 

their  earliest  productions,  was  superseded  in  Mr.  Kennedy,  as 
his  subsequent  writings  required  a  diverse  treatment ;  but  the 
harmony  of  taste  and  feeling  remained  to  the  last.  They  were 
admirable  companions,  and  mutually  enjoyed  domestic  seques 
tration,  social  experience  and,  especially,  journeys  and  excur 
sions  ;  many  a  pleasant  anecdote  and  stroke  of  humor  could 
each  relate  of  their  visits  and  sojourns  together ;  both  had  ar 
tistic  as  well  as  literary  proclivities  j  equally  fond  of  a  joke, 
Mr.  Kennedy  was  naturally  more  buoyant  and  sustained  in 
his  cheerfulness,  and  thus  proved  always  an  encouraging,  as 
well  as  congenial  companion  to  his  friend,  who  was  subject  to 
periods  of  depression  and  self-distrust.  Mr.  Kennedy  thus 
dedicated  his  most  popular  work  to  Washington  Irving. 

"  With  some  misgivings  upon  the  score  of  having  wasted 
time  and  paper  both,  which  might  have  been  better  employed, 
I  feel  a  real  consolation  in  turning  to  you,  as  having,  by  your 
success,  furnished  our  idle  craft  an  argument  to  justify  our  vo 
cation.  In  grateful  acknowledgment  of  these  services,  as  well 
as  to  indulge  the  expression  of  a  sincere  private  regard,  I 
have  ventured  to  inscribe  your  name  upon  the  front  of  the  im 
perfect  work  which  is  now  submitted  to  the  public."  The 
manner  in  which  Mr.  Irving  reciprocates  this  feeling,  and 
the  long,  frank,  free  and  cordial  intimacy  which  refreshed  his 
later  years,  may  be  gathered  from  a  few  random  extracts  from 
his  letters  to  Mr.  Kennedy : 

"  You  will  perceive,  my  dear  Horse-Shoe,  that  when  I  was 
a  little  tetchy  under  your  bantering  at  Niagara,  it  was  not  the 
fault  of  your  jokes,  which  were  excellent  as  usual,  but  because 
I  was  too  miserably  out  of  tune  to  be  played  upon,  be  the 
musician  ever  so  skilful.  I  avail  myself  of  a  tolerably  sane 
fragment  of  myself  which  is  left,  to  scrawl  these  lines." 

Writing  to  Mrs.  Kennedy,  in  reply  to  an  invitation  to  join 
her  husband  and  President  Fillmore  on  a  Southern  tour,  with 
characteristic  emphasis,  he  thus  protests  against  such  a  pub 
lic  demonstration.  Douce  Daviejs  the  name  of  "the  horse 
they  were  accustomed  to  ride  at  Ellicott's  Mills  : 


INTERCOURSE    WITH    AUTHORS.  379 

"  Heaven  preserve  me  from  any  tour  of  the  kind — to  have 
to  cope  at  every  turn  with  the  host  of  bores  of  all  kinds  that 
beset  the  path  of  political  notabilities  !  Has  K —  not  found 
out  by  this  time,  how  very  boreable  I  am  ?  Has  he  not  seen 
me  skulk  from  bar-rooms  and  other  gathering  places  where  he 
was  making  political  capital  among  the  million  ?  No,  no !  I 
am  ready,  at  any  time,  to  clatter  off  on  Douce  Davie  into  the 
woods  with  the  gentle  Horse-Shoe  or  to  scale  the  Alleghanies 
with  him  (barring  watering-places),  but  as  to  a  political  tour, 
I  would  as  lief  go  campaigning  with  Hudibrus  or  Don  Quix 
ote." 

The  respective  social  advantages  of  politics  and  literature, 
or  those  derived  from  fame  acquired  in  either  sphere,  wer6  the 
frequent  subject  of  banter  between  the  friends.  Horse-shoe 
was  always  rallying  Geoffrey  Crayon  on  his  modesty  in  not 
making  himself  known  at  inns,  and  thus  securing  good  accom 
modations  ;  and,  in  one  of  Irving's  letters,  is  an  amusing  de 
scription  of  an  experiment  of  the  kind  which  he  successfully 
tried  and  which  he  says,  "  Kennedy  calls  travelling  on  my 
capital."  -  I  remember  the  zest  with  which  the  latter  used  to 
relate  an  instance  of  his  triumph,  as  a  political  official  over 
his  friend's  literary  renown,  while  they  were  on  a  journey  in 
the  western  part  of  New  York.  Arriving  late  at  night  at  a 
crowded  hotel,  fatigued  with  a  long  day's  journey,  they  found 
tljeir  request  for  rooms  to  themselves  refused  as  impracticable. 

Mr.  Kennedy  took  the  landlord  aside  and  pointing  to  their 
names  in  the  register,  suggested  that  the  popular  author  from 
Sunnyside  was  entitled  to  special  consideration ;  "  Never 
heard  of  him,"  said  Boniface,  "  but  that  gentleman  with  him 
shall  have  a  room ;  he  has  been  in  Congress,  and  Secretary 
of  the  Navy." 

In  anticipation  of  seeing  the  family  at  Sunnyside,  Mr.  Irving 
thus  writes  to  Mr.  Kennedy  in  the  summer  of  1853  ;  the  ham 
alluded  to  in  the  proposed  bill  of  fare  was  a  present  from  Mr. 
Gray  :  "  I  look  forward  to  a  visit  from  you  all  at  my  '  small 
contentment ;'  wherever  I  may  be  my  nieces  will  be  happy 


380  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

to  entertain  you,  in  their  own  modest  way,  on  our  rural  fare, — 
a  couple  of  short-legged  hens,  a  joint  of  mutton,  with  very 
pretty  little  tiny  kickshaws,  or  peradventure  with  a  juicy  ham 
sent  to  me  from  the  banks  of  the  Patapsco  by  a  much  valued 
and  somewhat  musical  friend,  who  flourishes  in  that  quarter. 
To  that  excellent  friend  and  his  two  inestimable  daughters 
give  my  most  affectionate  remembrance  •  thine  ever  more, 
my  dear  Horse-Shoe,  '  while  this  machine  is  to  me.' 

"  GEOFFREY  CRAYON." 

A  characteristic  illustration  of  his  friend's  sensitive  diffi 
dence,  despite  their  perfect  mutual  understanding,  is  noted 
by  Mr.  Kennedy  in  his  journal,  dated  Patapsco,  October, 
1853. — Monday,  as  I  have  said,  a  heavy  snow-storm,  through 
which  I  drive  to  town  with  Irving.  He  tells  me,  as  we  ride 
together,  that  he  had  brought  the  manuscript  of  one  volume 
of  his  Life  of  Washington  with  him  in  his  trunk  for  the  pur 
pose  of  submitting  it  to  my  perusal  to  give  him  an  opinion 
upon  it, — but'  that  from  his  shyness  and  repugnance  to  what 
seemed  to  him  an  exhibition  of  himself,  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  ask  me  to  read  it.  I  told  him  I  was  very  sorry  he 
had  not  done  it,  as  it  would  have  given  me  a  high  gratifica 
tion  to  look  over  it,  and  to  express  freely  whatever  opinion  I 
might  have  formed,  and  to  aid  him  by  any  suggestion  I  could 
make. 

He  advised  me  to  write  diligently  now  for  a  few  years  on 
some  good  work.  I  told  him  I  was  preparing  such  an  enter 
prise  in  the  plan  of  a  work  intended  to  give  a  history  of  the 
political  and  social  condition  of  this  country  during  the  ten 
years  preceding  the  revolution.  I  explained  my  scheme  to 
him,  and  he  approved  it  strongly,  and  urged  it  upon  my  dili 
gent  pursuit.  We  reached  the  depot  about  ten,  and  after 
spending  a  short  time  there,  I  took  my  leave  with  the  exchange 
of  many  good  wishes  and  farewells,  with  my  excellent  friend." 

He  writes  from  Sunnyside,  August  2 ist,  1855,  to  Mrs.  Ken 
nedy  : — 

"  Kennedy  you  tell  me  is  studying  German — I  presume  as 


INTERCOURSE    WITH    AUTHORS.  381 

a  relaxation  from  his  railroad  labors.  He  has  an  aptness,  I 
should  think,  for  the  Northern  languages,  from  the  facility 
with  which  I  have  heard  him  render  a  conversation  between 
Miss  Bremer  and  one  of  her  countrymen.  I  should  like  to 
rub  up  my  own  recollections  of  the  German  in  the  course  of  a 
few  rides  with  him  in  the  woods  on  the  back  of  Douce  Davie. 
1  think  I  could  repay  him  in  bad  German  for  some  of  the 
metaphysics  he  occasionally  wastes  on  me  in  the  course  of 
our  woodland  colloquies." 

And  in  September,  1856,  Irving  writes  to  Kennedy: 
"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Joseph  Grinnell  spoke  of  having  seen 
you  at  Baltimore  after  your  return  from  your  gastronomical 
and  oratorical  tour  with  Mr.  Fillmore,  and  he  seemed  very 
much  haunted  by  the  recollection  of  some  jocose  account 
you  gave  of  various  deputations  of  '  white  waistcoats,'  from 
divers  committees  to  welcome  the  ex-president  and  yourself. 
But  though  the  recollection  of  the  joke  seemed  still  to  shake 
his  diaphragm,  he  could  not  do  any  justice  to  it.  So  I  shall 
put  you  in  mind  of  it  when  next  we  meet,  that  I  may  have  a 
companion  picture  to  those  of  your  interviews  with  Kossuth 
and  with  Frederika  Bremer;  the  recollections  of  which  I 
always  summon  up  as  sure  pills  to  cure  melancholy." 

In  the  three  following  letters  the  confidence  and  geniality 
of  their  intercourse  is  charmingly  evident : 

ELLICOTT'S  MILLS,  Sept.  22,  1853. 
To  WASHINGTON  IRVING,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  IRVING  : — Now  that  the  summer  is  past  and  gone, 
and  the  sun  shines  amiably  upon  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
men,  with  no  fell  intent  either  to  trip  up  their  heels  or  dissolve 
their  brains,  I  feel  that  I  may  once  more  venture  upon  the 
effort  of  a  salutation  to  a  friend.  "So,  God  save  thee  Good 
Geoffrey !— health  and  happiness  to  thee  and  thine,  and  full 
return  of  thy  wasted  strength,  and  so  much  of  restored  bulk  as 
shall  make  thee  jocund  ; — and  pleasant  humors  to  thee,  with 
thine  accustomed  recognition  and  enjoyment  of  such  poor 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

jokes  even  as  mine ; — and  good  increase  of  store,  and  good 
storing  of  thy  increase,  and  all  desirable  delectation  to  Sunny- 
side,  and  its  worthy  contents  ! — that  beehive  of  happy  bees 
which  sweeten  thy  cup  with  distillations  of  Hybla,  great-grand 
father  of  cis- Atlantic  letters  !  meaning,  not  a  degree  above  the 
father's  father  of  the  Alphabet,  but  a  grandfather  who  has 
earned  his  title  with  Alexander  and  Peter  and  Alfred. 

Here  is  beautiful  weather  again,  which,  as  it  comes  on  the 
wintry  side  of  the  Equinox,  will,  I  doubt  not,  continue  its 
beneficence  up  to  the  coming  of  the  snows.  When  we  reached 
home  from  our  summer  ramble  we  found  that  we  had  left  New 
York  one  week  too  soon.  The  weather  was,  as  it  had  been,  as 
you  know  to  your  cost  once  or  twice  before,  absolutely  crush 
ing  ;  the  sky  distressingly  bright,  and  the  sun's  rays  falling  like 
arrows.  We  were  all  overcome  except  Mr.  Gray,  who  rejoiced 
as  a  salamander  in  these  fervors,  and  has  actually  gained  nine 
pounds  by  the  scales  ;  all  the  rest  of  us  were  so  cast  down  that 
you  would  have  thought  gravitation  had  done  its  worst  and 
meant  to  keep  us  down.  I  rallied,  however,  and  made  a  resolve 
to  fly  to  Berkeley,  which  I  did  before  the  week  was  out,  and 
reached  there  on  Friday, — nearly  two  weeks  ago, — just  as  the 
weather  changed  and  came  out  so  cold  that  a  fire  and  great 
coat  became  indispensable.  There  I  found  some  remnant  of 
the  tribe  whose  curiosity  you  had  so  perversely  bafHed  in  June, 
and  who  had  not,  even  yet,  done  wondering  at  that  queer  in 
congruity  of  yours, — as  they  set  it  down, — which  distinguished 
the  actual  from  the  ideal  Geoffrey,  which  last  they  held  to  be 
the  most  loving  and  tender-hearted  and  meltingest  of  the  wor 
shippers  of  woman.  But  when  I  told  them  that  you  had  had 
a  great  break  and  outburst  of  bilious  fever  which  had  been  ag 
glomerating  within  the  confines  of  your  heart  and  stomach  ail 
summer,  and  which  had  finally  exploded  with  a  crash  and  a 
crepitation  like  that  of  your  unhappy  London  lapdog,  they 
made  a  satisfactory  theory  upon  the  matter,  by  which  they  con 
vinced  themselves  that  all  such  sinful  affections  or  overcharged 
livers,  or  morbid  pancreases  or  disturbed  prima  mas,  or  tardy 


INTERCOURSE    WITH    AUTHORS.  383 

duodenums,  naturally  beget  and  nourish  a  restless  reluctance 
to  the  approach  and  converse  of  that  purer  element  whereof 
woman  is  compounded,  and  that  the  afflicted  man  must  be  ex 
ercised  and  thoroughly  purged  before  he  can  take  an  honest 
pleasure  in  such  intercourse.  And  now  that  you  have  cast 
out  your  devil  and  placed  him  under  your  foot,  they  are  per 
suaded  you  would  be  quite  delightful  if  that  visit  were  repeated. 
I  hope  you  have  been  regaining  strength  without  backsliding, 
since  our  visit  to  Sunnyside,  when,  as  I  thought,  you  were 
manifestly  the  better  for  the  attack.  That  heaviness  of  head 
you  complained  of  in  the  Spring,  and  when  you  joined  us  at 
Saratoga,  may  be  referred  to  the  disease  which  has  found  a 
vent  in  the  fever,  and  was  bound,  I  think,  to  go  off  with  it. 
We  heard  in  New  York  and  since  our  return  of  several  indica 
tions  of  autumnal  fever  on  the  North  River.  Mrs.  O 's 

family  were  obliged  to  leave  her  residence  near  Sing  Sing  on 
that  account.  I  do  not  know  that  you  have  found  malaria  in 
your  quarter,  though  it  would  take  but  a  small  spark  to  set 
off  such  a  magazine  as  you  may  have  been  quietly  gathering 
in  your  long  scholastic  incubation  of  this  last  egg  of  yours. 

The  health  of  our  region  is  singularly  good ;  and  as  the 
first  of  October  approaches,  we  keep  our  lookout  to  see  you 
here,  where  you  are  now  greatly  wanted.  The  piano  is  tink 
ling  all  day  with  the  music  of  merry  girls ;  and  the  house  is 
vocal  with  their  multitudinous  prattle,  which  only  wants  the 
accompaniment  of  your  laugh  and  encouragement  to  make  it 
a  perfect  concert.  My  brother  Andrew  and  his  household  are 
also  asking  when  you  are  to  arrive  and  assist  in  the  proces 
sions,  marches  and  fantasies  which  they  are  keeping  in  reserve 
for  you.  In  fact,  we  have  sundry  plans  waiting  for  exploita 
tion  when  you  shall  come  to  take  your  part.  Mrs.  K —  and  I 
will  go  with  you  to  Virginia.  We  have  our  annual  visit  to 
make  there,"  which  we  have  arranged  to  be  made  with  you. 
I  shall  send  up  a  light  carriage  and  two  saddle-horses,  and  we 
propose  to  survey  the  mountains  in  fine  weather,  with  abun 
dance  of  gay  adventures  and  much  at  our  ease.  October  is 


384  LIFE   OF   JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

the  month  for  this,  and  you  must  be  here  in  good  time  for  it. 
I  promise  you  thorough  redintegration  of  body  and  mind,  and 
the  pleasure  of.  making  a  host  of  friends  in  these  latitudes 
happy.  Chief  among  them  is  Mr.  Gray,  who  talks  continually 
of  your  coming,  and  whom  you  have  taken  such  hold  of  as  to 
make  your  presence  a  necessity.  I  must  say  that  "  the  little 
fume  of  a  woman,"  and  her  sister  will  account  it  a  most  benig 
nant  thing  of  you  to  keep  this  appointment  punctually,  be 
cause  you  will  see  that  before  you  have  opened  your  lips,  and 
hear  it,  if  you  are  attentive,  perhaps  as  you  come  up  the  front 
door  steps,  if  they  should  recognize  your  footfall. 

Write  to  me  to  let  me  know  how  you  thrive  ;  and  particu 
larly,  again,  when  you  will  set  out  and  be  here. 

By  the  present  arrangement  of  the  trains  you  can  reach 
our  house  on  the  evening  of  the  day  you  leave  New  York. 
When  you  reach  the  depot  in  Baltimore,  which  is  about  six,  I 
believe,  you  will  find  a  car  at  the  door  which  takes  the  Wheel 
ing  and  Cumberland  passengers  straight  on  to  the  Baltimore 
and  Ohio  depot.  There  the  train  for  Wheeling  leaves  at 
seven,  and  reaches  the  village — Ellicott's  Mills — at  quarter 
before  eight.  This  train  does  not  stop  at  our  bridge,  but  goes 
on  to  the  village,  half  a  mile  above  us,  where  I  will  have  the 
carriage  to  take  you  in  charge. 

You  perceive,  from  this  arrangement,  that  at  the  Baltimore 
depf't  of  the  Philadelphia  road,  you  take  the  car  to  the  Balti 
more  and  Ohio  depot,  and  there  take  your  passage  to  Elli 
cott's  Mills,  marking  your  baggage  to  be  taken  out  there. 
Once  at  the  village,  you  are  our  prisoner,  and  will  be  brought 
in  the  dark  to  your  old  quarters. 

Yours  ever, 

J.  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMOKE,  June  19,  1854. 
To  WASHINGTON  IRVING,  Esq. 

MY  DEAR  IRVING  :  Mrs.  Kennedy  has  been,  for  some  time 
past,  in  a  state  of  evident  inward  disquiet,  manifested  by  cer- 


INTERCOURSE    WITH    AUTHORS.  385 

tain  outward  signs  of  energetic  locomotion  and  visible  increase 
of  activity  which  I  have  discovered  has  been  produced  by  a 
determination  to  write  to  you,  by  way  of  acknowledgment  of 
a  letter  you  wrote  to  her  some  months  ago, — in  February, 
perhaps, — certainly  not  later.  She  confesses  that  it  weighs 
upon  her  mind  ;  that  it  is  a  shame,  that  she  ought  to  explain 
this  delay ;  and  then  she  asks  me  every  morning  if  I  am  not 
going  to  write  to  Mr.  Irving  ? — and  if  I  am,  would  I  tell  him 
why  she  had  not  done  so  ?  Now,  the  truth  of  the  case  is  this  : 
First,  I  went  on  that  long  tour  southward,  which  put  her  into 
an  incapacity.  Second,  she  grew  ill  with  what  the  doctor 
called  gastralgia  ;  a  very  nervous  malady,  and,  indeed,  was 
quite  ill  with  it  for  some  weeks, — so  ill  that  I  was  summoned 
home  by  telegraph,  in  a  dispatch  which  met  me  at  Columbia, 
in  South  Carolina  ;  and  third,  as  she  has  now  recovered  from 
the  worst  of  the  attack,  she  is  not  yet  restored  to  that  com 
posure  which  is  necessary  to  the  intellectual  exertion  of  in 
diting  an  epistle,  and  therefore  relies  upon  me  to  perform  such 
occasional  service  in  that  way  as  may  lighten  her  conscience, 
and  keep  it  in  fair  sailing  trim. 

We  are  indulging  the  hope  of  seeing  you,  before  long,  in 
that  pilgrimage  which  we  hope  is  to  be  annual  and  frequent 
to  the  shore  of  the  Patapsco,  and  will  have  youf  arm-chair 
and  cell  in  fitting  condition  as  soon  as  our  carpenters  shall 
allow  us.  At  present,  our  cottage  is  buried  in  shavings  and 
saw-dust,  and  we  are  only  to-day  beginning  to  prepare  for  our 
removal.  You  know  I  projected  a  very  imposing  addition  to 
the  house  last  fall.  The  plan  was  made  and  I  engaged  a 
workman,  who  contracted  to  have  every  thing  done  by  the  first 
of  May.  So  having  got  the  matter  in  his  hands,  he' takes  it 
so  much  at  his  own  pleasure,  that  now,  more  than  six  weeks 
after  the  time,  he  gives  me  a  plausible  hope  that  I  may  get 
rid  of  him  by  the  middle  of  July.  Very  annoying,  this  per 
fidy,  but  utterly  without  relief  except  in  a  philosophic  and 
Christian  resignation.  We  shall  move  out  in  a  day  or  t>vo, 
and  take  all  the  discomforts,  of  the  plastering  and  painting  as 
17 


386  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

well  as  the  restriction  of  house  room, — for  the  new  building 
has  cut  off  some  of  our  old  accommodation,  and  does  not 
give  us  the  substitute  until  the  clay  of  emancipation,  which  we 
look  for  in  July. 

The  improvement  in  our  face  to  the  world,  as  well  as  in 
interior  arrangement,  will  be  very  obvious,  as  you  shall  see 
when  it  is  done.  I  am  getting  a  handsome  library  room,  and 
and  a  fine,  airy  chamber  above  it,  and  some  two  or  three 
additional  rooms  for  the  family.  These  will  be  illustrated  by 
a  tower,  which  I  have  put  up  for  the  staircase,  surmounted 
by  a  spire,  weathercock  and  gilt  ball.  The  proximity  of  the 
river,  upon  which  the  new  building  is  planted  and  which  it 
overhangs,  suggested  a  Venetian  fancy,  and  this  will  explain 
my  campanile  turret,  my  round  arched  windows,  and  the 
hanging  balconies.  If  you  could  send  me  a  gondola,  and  a 
guitar  man,  in  cloak  and  feather,  with  a  dark  mustache,  I 
should  take  it  as  a  friendly  contribution  to  the  intended  archi 
tectural  conceit.  In  the  mean  time,  we  shall  use  our  village 
organ-grinder,  and  the  little  skiff  of  the  dam  which  will  carry 
one  man  and  two  boys. 

Enclosed  I  send  you  a  sketch  of  the  front,  which  looks  to 
the  river,  in  which  you  will  recognize  only  the  old  gateway 
bridge  across  the  race,  and  the  willows.  As  this  architectural 
feat  is  of  an  ambitious  hue,  and  is  considered  a  very  bold 
undertaking  of  mine,  I  stand  greatly  in  need  of  good  backing 
from  stanch  friends,  and  I  therefore  bespeak  your  prowess 
at  once.  When  you  come  to  see'us,  come  prepared  to  stand 
up  for  the  man  who  could  engage  in  this  severe  venture.  I 
shall  write  to  let  you  know  the  first  moment  when  the  plaster 
is  dry  and  the  place  habitable,  for  until  then  we  shall  be  in 
probation.  Mr.  Gray's  health  has  been  very  feeble  of  late, 
but  better  just  now.  We  may  go  to  Saratoga,  but  that  is 
doubtful.  We  all  send  love  to  you  and  your  household. 
Very  truly  and  kindly  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 


WITH    AUTHOR*.  387 


ELLICOTT'S  MILLS,  August  8, 1854. 

MY  DEAR  IRVING  : — My  old  friend  The  Sun, "  honest  light," 
I  am  glad  to  inform  you,  rose  this  morning  in  a  most  happy 
state  of  convalescence  after  his  late  violent  attack  of  fever. 
His  visage  is  somewhat  pale  as  might  be  expected,  but  his 
pulse  is  good,  his  complexion  clear,  and  he  really  seems  to  en 
joy  himself  in  the  delicious  breeze  of  the  morning.  The  old 
fellow  must  be  watched,  however,  as  he  gets  back  to  his  health, 
for  I  found  aurora  scudding  before  him  about  daylight,  very 
much  confused  and  evidently  laughing  in  her  blushes  as  she 
ran  away  ;  and  I  thought  he  himself  was  a  little  flustered  when 
I  caught  him  peeping  over  the  hills  at  her.  But  these  veter 
ans,  you  know,  are  apt  to  be  a  little  extravagant  in  their  be 
havior  after  such  a  pull  down,  and  may  claim  some  indulgence 
for  a  few  extra  antics.  I  hope  your  case  is  as  good  as  his,  and 
that  you  have  come  out  of  your  calenture  as  little  shorn  of 
your  beams,  my  dear  and  kindred  luminary,  as  good  in  your 
intents,  and  as  wholesome  in  visage  as  he.  The  antics  I  am 
quite  sure  you  will  have  nothing  to  do  with,  and,  in  that  re 
spect,  will  teach  him  a  lesson  of  propriety,  by  which  he  may 
become  a  wiser  and  a  better  Sun,  if  that  be  possible.  You 
have  had  your  tertian  or  your  quotidian  or  your  quarternian — 
I  don't  know  which, — (either  is  more  than  you  deserve),  I  learn 
from  your  letter,  to  vex  you  this  summer,  as  that  greater  erup 
tion  of  bile  did  last  year ;  but  from  a  line  I  received  this 
morning,  written  to  me  by  Grinnell,  who  tells  me  you  were  din 
ing  with  him  on  Sunday  and  gave  him  a  message  from  me 
which  he  has  very  kindly  answered,  I  infer  your  ailments 
have  now  bid  you  good-by,  whereat  I  congratulate  you  with  all 
my  heart,  and  say  God  preserve  you  from  the  foul  fiend,  and 
keep  you  jocund  and  sound  for  many  years  ! 

I  am  now  writing  in  my  new  library  from  beneath  the  tow 
er  ;  and  there  is  a  woman  up  stairs  scouring  out  the  traces  of 
the  workmen.  The  last  of  the  painters  left  us  on  Saturday, — 
the  bell-hanger  has  ceased  his  jingles,  and  every  thing  is  done 


388  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

but  the  final  coxcombry  of  a  spire  on  the  tower,  and  the  light 
ning-rod  which  is  to  bring  it  to  a  delicate  point :  and  my  wife 
is  just  beginning  to  be  energetic  on  the  carpet  question,  and  is 
plotting  some  exploits  in  furniture.  So  we  come  to  see  peace 
once  more,  with  a  broader  expanse  of  accommodation  •  and,  al 
ready,  we  have  arranged  a  nook  for  you,  with  a  distinct  appar 
atus  of  pen  and  ink,  with  a  beautiful  lookout  on  the  waterfall ; 
and,  by  way  of  training,  our  watchman  is  practising  a  more 
sparing  tintinnabulation  on  his  bell,  both  for  night  and  morning, 
• — proportioned  reticence  in  his  clamor, — for  the  benefit  of  your 
nerves,  which  we  suppose,  by  the  middle  of  September,  will 
be  in  condition  to  stand  up  to  a  daylight  salutation  of  thirty 
seconds,  and  the  drumming  of  the  mill  dam  upon  the  windows. 

In  the  mean  time  I  am  going  up  to  my  poor  brother  An 
drew,  who  is  sadly  overthrown  by  the  loss  of  his  eldest  daugh 
ter,  our  beloved  Annie  Selden,  of  whose  death  Mrs.  K —  ap 
prised  you  in  her  letter.  It  is  a  melancholy  household  there. 
My  brother  has  done  nothing  but  weep  ever  since.  I  am  go 
ing  to  take  him,  if  I  can  persuade  him  to  it,  to  Capon,  in  the 
mountains  above  Winchester,  and  thence  over  to  Bath,  where 
I  go,  by  appointment,  to  meet  my  old  uncle  Mr.  Pendleton,  to 
whom  I  have  become  a  necessity.  Thence  I  return  to  Mar- 
tinsburg  to  visit  my  mother.  All  this  I  propose  to  do  in  the 
coming  month,  leaving  here  towards  the  end  of  this  week  and 
remaining  abroad  these  thirty  days,  unless  I  should  be  recall 
ed  by  Mr.  Gray,  who  has  grown  very  old  since  you  saw  him, 
and  has  been  nursing  fancies  of  death  almost  ever  since  we 
came  out  here.  He  is  a  great  deal  better  now,  and  grows 
more  cheerful  and  contented  every  day,  talking  always  with 
great  pleasure  about  meeting  you  again,  and  uttering  a  "  God 
bless  you  !"  as  often  as  your  name  is  mentioned, — which  is 
every  day." 

In  March,  1856,  in  writing  on  the  occasion  of  a  domes 
tic  bereavement,  Mr.  Irving  gives  earnest  expression  to  his 
grateful  sense  of  those  social  virtues,  that  genial  compan 
ionship  and  intelligent  sympathy  which  so  brightened  life  to 


INTERCOURSE    WITH    AUTHORS.  OO? 

him  and  endears  the  memory  of  his  friend  to  so  many  faithful 
hearts : 

"  My  dear  Kennedy,  my  intercourse  with  you  and.  your 
family  has  been  a  great  sweetener  of  the  past  few  years  of  my 
existence  and  the  only  attraction  that  has  been  able  to  draw 
me  repeatedly  from  home." 


390  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  Peabody  Institute. 

IN  1841  Mr.  Kennedy  remarks  in  his  Diary:  "I  wish  to 
write  a  lecture  upon  the  means  of  improving  our  city  ; 
first,  pointing  out  its  resources  and  then  suggesting  sundry 
matters  in  relation  to  its  institutions,  but  especially  a  plan  for 
a  Free  Public  Library,  a  Museum  and  School  of  Art  and 
provision  in  the  way  of  Lectures."  This  favorite  project  had 
long  occupied  his  thoughts ;  and  at  length,  an  unexpected  and 
most  auspicious  opportunity  was  offered  to  realize  the  cherished 
purpose.  Among  his  comrades  who  rallied  to  the  defence  of 
the  city  in  the  seconcl  war  with  Great  Britain,  was  a  young 
merchant  with  whom  he  ever  after  sustained  friendly  associa 
tions.  They  boarded  for  years  at  the  same  house  in  Baltimore 
when  both  had  their  way  to  make  in  the  world.  This  old 
fellow-soldier  and  townsman  was  George  Peabody,  who  had 
become  a  wealthy  London  banker.  When  this  gentleman 
resolved  to  bestow  his  large  fortune  for  the  endowment  of 
charitable  and  educational  institutions,  his  thoughts  naturally 
turned  toward  the  State  which  had  been  the  home  of  his 
youth  and  the  scene  of  his  earliest  commercial  success.  He 
informed  his  old  friend  that  he  wished  to  do  something  for 
Baltimore,  and  requested  him  to  consider  the  subject  carefully 
and  give  him  the  benefit  of  his  counsel  and  suggestions.  It 
was  no  new  subject  to  Mr.  Kennedy,  and  he  entered  upon  it 
with  the  most  intelligent  sympathy.  He  drew  up  a  plan  for 
an  Institution  which  should  combine  cheap  lectures  from 
the  best  sources,  with  musical  instruction,  a  free  library  and, 
eventually,  an  art-gallery.  His  views  were  at  once  adopted 


THE  PEABODY  INSTHTTK.  391 

by  Mr.  Peabody  and  embodied  in  a  letter  announcing  his 
intention  to  provide  munificently  for  the  enterprise.  As  one 
of  the  Trustees  of  the  Peabody  Institute,  Mr.  Kennedy's  labors 
were  assiduous  and  most  enlightened.  His  views,  however, 
were  too  comprehensive  to  be  readily  adopted  by  all  his  co- 
trustees.  He  was  in  favor  of  economizing  in  the  proposed 
edifice,  of  erecting  it  in  a  central  and  accessible  situation,  and 
expending  the  greater  part  of  the  funds  upon  the  intellectual 
resources  of  the  Institute.  He  was  also  earnest  in  his  advo 
cacy  of  a  union  of  all  similar  associations  with  this,  as  a 
nucleus,  so  as  to  concentrate  all  the  means  of  popular  culture 
in  one  efficient  and  adequately  endowed  establishment.  He 
was  not  prepared  for  the  exclusive  spirit,  the  local  jealousy 
and  the  -limited  ideas  with  which  he  had  to  contend,  in  the 
attempt  to  realize  his  great  scheme.  He  was  obliged  reluc 
tantly  to  surrender  his  dearest  wishes  in  this  regard,  and  to 
yield  his  mature  convictions  to  the  will  of  the  majority.  This 
disappointment,  however,  did  not  cool  his  ardor  or  lessen  his 
co-operative  labor.  He  interested  himself  effectually  in  the 
organization  of  the  Institute,  in  the  selection  of  the  library, 
and  in  obtaining  the  most  desirable  lecturers.  Abroad  he 
arranged  for  the  purchase  of  books  and  studied  the  system 
and  the  workings  of  similar  establishments  in  England  and  on 
the  continent.  Much  that  is  permanently  desirable  and  practi 
cally  successful  in  the  results  of  Mr.  Peabody's  benign  experi 
ment,  is  due  to  the  foresight,  wisdom  and  patient  labor  of 
Mr.  Kennedy.  His  reports  and  addresses  are  among  the 
most  lucid  and  effective  illustrations  of  this  beneficient  en 
terprise.  Had  he  lived,  the  Peabody  Institute  would  have 
prospered  to  an  incalculable  extent,  by  his  intelligent,  faithful 
and  disinterested  labors.  He  bequeathed  to  it  his  library  and 
his  papers.  He  was  the  moving  spirit  of  the  Trustees  ;  well 
might  his  friend  Pennington  write  him  when  in  Europe  : — "  I 
wish  you  were  here  aiding  and  directing  us  in  putting  the  In 
stitution  into  operation;  we  sadly  want  a  head."  And  it  is 
but  justice  to  add  that  all  the.  reasonable  objections  which 


392  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

have  been  made  to  the  practical  workings  and  actual  results 
of  the  Institute,  may  be  traced  to  the  neglect  of  those  re 
sources  or  indifference  to  those  arrangements  which  Mr.  Ken 
nedy  originally  advocated. 

He  writes,  December  igth,  1854  : — "  I  saw  Mayhew  yes 
terday  and  he  showed  me  Peabody's  letter  from  London  which 
requests  him,  together  with  Reverdy  Johnson  and  myself,  to 
devise  a  plan  for  a  large,  beneficent  establishment  for  the 
City  of  Baltimore,  which  Mr.  Peabody  is  anxious  to  institute. 
I  will  endeavor  to  plan  something  on  a  magnificent  scale 
which  may  serve  to  educate  a  large  number  of  students  in 
the  most  useful  arts  and  sciences."  The  plan  suggested  by 
Mr.  Kennedy  and  adopted  by  Mr.  Peabody  was  the  following : 

First. — An  extensive  library  to  be  well  furnished  in  every 
department  of  knowledge,  and  of  the  most  approved  lit 
erature  ;  which  is  to  be  maintained  for  the  free  use  of  all  per 
sons  who  may  desire  to  consult  it,  and  be  supplied  with  every 
proper  convenience  for  daily  reference  and  study,  within  ap 
pointed  hours  of  the  week  days  of  every  year.  It  should  con- 
<iist  of  the  best  works  on  every  subject  embraced  within  the 
scope  of  its  plan,  and  as  completely  adapted,  as  the  means  at 
your  command  may  allow,  to  satisfy  the  researches  of  students 
who  may  be  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  not  ordinarily 
attainable  in  the  private  libraries  of  the  country.  It  should  be 
guarded  and  preserved  from  abuse,  and  rendered  efficient  for 
the  purposes  I  contemplate  in  its  establishment,  by  such  regu 
lations  as  the  judgment  and  experience  of  the  Trustees  may 
adopt  or  approve.  I  recommend,  in  reference  to  such  regula 
tions,  that  it  shall  not  be  constructed  upon  a  plan  of  a  circula 
ting  library ;  and  that  the  books  shall  not  be  allowed  to  be 
taken  out  of  the  building,  except  in  very  special  cases,  and  in 
accordance  with  rules  adapted  to  them  as  exceptional  privi 
leges. 

Second. — I  desire  that  ample  provision  and  accommodation 
be  made  for  the  regular  periodical  delivery,  at  the  proper  sea 
son  in  each  year,  of  lectures  by  the  most  capable  and  accom- 


THE    PEAJ50DY    INSTITUTE.  393 

plished  scholars  and  men  of  science,  within  the  power  of  the 
Trustees  to  procure.  These  lectures  should  be  directed  to  in 
struction  in  science,  art  and  literature.  They  should  be  estab 
lished  with  such  regulations  as,  in  the  judgment  of  the  Trus 
tees,  shall  be  most  effectual  to  secure  the  benefits  expected 
from  them  ;  and  should,  under  proper  and  necessary  restrictions 
adapted  to  preserve  good  order  and  guard  against  abuse,  be 
open  to  the  resort  of  the  respectable  inhabitants,  of  both  sexes, 
of  the  city  and  State  :  such  prices  of  admission  being  required 
as  may  serve  to  defray  a  portion  of  the  necessary  expenses  of 
maintaining  the  lectures,  without  impairing  their  usefulness  to 
the  community. 

In  connection  with  this  provision,  I  desire  that  the  Trus 
tees,  in  order  to  encourage  and  reward  merit,  should  adopt  a 
regulation  by  which  a  number  of  the  graduates  of  the  public 
High  Schools  of  the  city,  not  exceeding  fifty  of  each  sex,  in 
each  year,  who  shall  have  obtained,  by  their  proficiency  in  their 
studies  and  their  good  behavior,  certificates  of  merit  from  the 
Commissioners  or  superintending  authorities  of  the  Schools  to 
which  they  may  be  attached,  may,  by  virtue  of  such  certificates, 
be  entitled,  as  an  honorary  mark  of  distinction,  to  free  admis 
sion  to  the  lectures  for  one  term  or  season  after  obtaining  the 
certificates. 

I  also  desire  that,  for  the  same  purpose  of  encouraging 
merit,  the  Trustees  shall  make  suitable  provision  for  an  annu 
al  grant  of  twelve  hundred  dollars  ;  of  which  five  hundred  shall 
be  distributed  every  year,  in  money  prizes,  graduated  accord 
ing  to  merit,  of  sums  of  not  less  than  fifty  dollars,  nor  more 
than  one  hundred  for  each  prize,  to  be  given  to  such  graduates 
of  the  public  Male  High  Schools  now  existing  or  which  may 
hereafter  be  established,  as  shall,  in  each  year,  upon  examina 
tion  and  certificate  of  the  School  Commissioners,  or  other  per 
sons  having  the  chief  superintendence  of  the  same,  be  adjudged 
most  worthy,  from  their  fidelity  to  their  studies,  their  attain 
ments,  their  moral  deportment,  their  personal  habits  of  cleanli 
ness  and  propriety  of  manners  :  the  sum  of  two  hundred  dol- 
17* 


31M  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

lars  to  be  appropriated  to  the  purchase,  in  every  year,  of  gold 
medals  of  two  degrees,  of  which  ten  shall  be  of  the  value  of  ten 
dollars  each,  and  twenty  of  the  value  of  five  dollars  each,  to  be 
annually  distributed  to  the  most  meritorious  of  the  graduating 
classes  of  the  public  Female  High  Schools  ;  these  prizes  to  be 
adjudged  for  the  same  merit,  and  under  the  like  regulations,  as 
the  prizes  to  be  given  to  the  graduates  of  the  Male  High  Schools. 
The  remaining  five  hundred  dollars  to  be,  in  like  manner,  distrib 
uted  in  money  prizes,  as  provided  above  for  the  graduates  of  the 
Male  High  School,  in  the  same  amounts  respectively,  to  the 
yearly  graduates  in  the  School  of  Design  attached  to  the  Me 
chanics'  Institute  of  this  city.  To  render  this  annual  distribu 
tion  of  prizes  effective  to  the  end  I  have  in  view,  I  desire  that 
the  Trustees  shall  digest,  propose,  and  adopt  all  such  rules  and 
provisions,  and  procure  the  correspondent  regulations  on  the 
part  of  the  public  institutions  referred  to,  as  they  may  deem 
necessary  to  accomplish  the  object. 

Third. — I  wish,  also,  that  the  Institute  shall  embrace  within 
its  plan  an  Academy  of  Music,  adapted,  in  the  most  effective 
manner,  to  diffuse  and  cultivate  a  taste  for  that,  the  most  refin 
ing  of  all  the  arts.  By  providing  a  capacious  and  suitably  fur 
nished  saloon,  the  facilities  necessary  to  the  best  exhibitions  of 
the  art,  the  means  of  studying  its  principles  and  practising  its 
compositions,  and  periodical  concerts,  aided  by  the  best  talent 
and  most  eminent  skill  within  their  means  to  procure,  the  Trus 
tees  may  promote  the  purpose  to  which  I  propose  to  devote 
this  department  of  the  Institute.  They  will  make  all  such  reg 
ulations  as,  in  their  judgment,  are  most  likely  to  render  the 
Academy  of  Music  the  instrument  of  permanent  good  to  the 
society  of  this  city.  As  it  will  necessarily  incur  considerable 
expense  for  its  support,  I  desire  that  it  may  be,  in  part,  sustain 
ed  by  such  charges  for  admission  to  its  privileges,  as  the  Trus 
tees  may  consider  proper,  and,  at  the  same  time,  compatible 
with  my  design  to  render  it  useful  to  the  community.  And  I 
suggest  for  their  consideration  the  propriety  of  regulating  the 
conditions  of  an  annual  membership  of  the  Academy,  as  well 


THE    PEABODY    INSTITUTE.  395 

as  the  terms  of  occasional  admission  to  the  saloon — if  they 
should  consider  it  expedient  at  any  time  to  extend  the  privilege 
of  admission  beyond  the  number  of  those  who  may  be  enrolled 
as  members. 

Fourth. — I  contemplate  with  great  satisfaction,  as  an  auxil 
iary  to  the  improvement  of  the  taste,  and,  through  it,  the  mor 
al  elevation  of  the  character  of  the  society  of  Baltimore,  the  es 
tablishment  of  a  Gallery  of  Art  in  the  department  of  Painting 
and  Statuary.  It  is,  therefore,  my  wish  that  such  a  gallery 
should  be  included  in  the  plan  of  the  Institute,  and  that  spa 
cious  and  appropriate  provision  be  made  for  it.  It  should  be 
supplied,  to  such  an  extent  as  may  be  practicable,  with  the 
works  of  the  best  masters,  and  be  placed  under  such  regula 
tions  as  shall  secure  free  access  to  it,  during  stated  periods  of 
every  year,  by  all  orderly  and  respectable  persons  who  ma) 
take  an  interest  in  works  of  this  kind ;  and  particularly  that, 
under  wholesome  restraints  to  preserve  good  order  and  cleca 
rous  deportment,  it  may  be  rendered  instructive  to  artists  in 
the  pursuit  of  their  peculiar  studies  and  in  affording  them  op 
portunity  to  make. drawings  and  copies  from  the  works  it  may 
contain. 

As  annual  or  periodical  Exhibitions  of  Paintings  and  Stat 
uary  are  calculated,  in  my  opinion,  to  afford  equal  gratification 
and  instruction  to  the  community,  and  may  serve  to  supply  a 
valuable  fund  for  the  enrichment  of  the  gallery,  I  suggest  to 
the  Trustees  the  establishment  of  such  Exhibitions,  as  far  as 
they  may  find  it  practicable  from  the  resources  within  their 
reach. 

Lastly. — I  desire  that  ample  and  convenient  accommodation 
may  be  made  in  the  building  of  the  Institute  for  the  use  of  the 
Maryland  Historical  Society,  of  which  I  am  and  have  long 
been  a  member.  It  is  my  wish  that  that  Society  should  per 
manently  occupy  its  appropriate  rooms  as  soon  as  they  are  pro 
vided,  and  should,  at  the  proper  time  when  this  can  be  done, 
be  appointed  by  the  Trustees  to  be  the  guardian  and  protector 
of  the  property  of  the  Institute  ;  and  that,  if  it  accept  this  duty 


390  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

and,  in  conformity  with  my  wish,  shall  remove  into  and  take 
possession  of  the  apartments  designed  for  its  use,  it  shall  also 
be  requested  and  empowered  to  assume  the  management  and 
administration  of  the  operations  of  the  several  departments  as 
the  same  shall  be  established  and  organized  by  the  Trustees  ; 
that  it  shall,  at  a  proper  time  in  every  year,  appoint  from  its 
own  members  appropriate  and  efficient  committees,  to  be  charged 
respectively  with  the  arrangement  and  direction  of  the  oper 
ations  and  conduct  of  each  department  in  the  functions  assign 
ed  to  each  by  the  Trustees  •  that,  in  the  performance  of  these 
duties,  it  shall  keep  in  view  the  purposes  which  it  is  my  aim 
to  promote ;  give  due  attention  to  the  details  necessary  to  ac 
complish  them;  and  adopt  suitable  measures  to  execute  the 
plan  of  organization  made  by  the  Trustees  and  carry  into  full 
and  useful  effect  my  intentions  as  disclosed  in  this  letter." 

Abroad  and  at  home  Mr.  Kennedy  consulted  with  Mr. 
Peabody  in  regard  to  the  details  of  this  programme  and  the 
appropriation  of  the  funds.  He  had,  as  has  been  before  ob 
served,  much  to  contend  with  in  the  opposition  his  ideas  en 
countered  from  some  of  the  Trustees  ;  and,  although  baffled  in 
many  cherished  purposes,  he  had  the  satisfaction,  in  his  last 
interview  with  the  donor,  to  find  that  he  wholly  sympathized 
with  and  approved  his  course.  Sometimes,  however,  he  felt 
discouraged ;  "  If  the  views,"  he  writes  after  a  meeting  of  the 
Trustees,  "  expressed  to-day,  are  carried  into  practice,  it  will 
be  a  sad  failure  on  a  plan  which  may  give  a  very  respectable 
Reading  Club  House,  where  idle  men  may  find  the  means  of 
killing  time,  but  which  will  contribute  little  towards  the  forma 
tion  of  a  literary  and  scientific  taste  in  the  city."  Besides  ac 
tively  interesting  himself  in  the  economical  details,  the  general 
arrangements  and  the  selections  for  the-  library,  Mr.  Kennedy 
was  auspiciously  efficient  in  securing  able  and  interesting  lec 
turers.  His  large  acquaintance  among  men  of  science  and 
letters,  enabled  him  to  enlist  their  aid  and  sympathy  in  this 
department.  "  Many  thanks,"  writes  one  of  eminence  in  lit 
erature,  "  for  your  invitation  to  come  and  discuss  again.  It 


THE    PEABODY    INSTITUTE.  397 

seems  to  cast  a  dash  of  sunshine  on  the  trade  of  lecturing,  and 
I  am  strongly  tempted  to  come — mainly  that  it- will  enable  me 
to  renew  my  intercourse  with  yourself."  This  personal  charm 
which  attracted  men  of  culture,  is  of  great  value  to  a  literary 
purveyor ;  it  was  always  recognized,  and  not  one  of  Mr.  Ken 
nedy's  friends  could  fail  to  reiterate  the  declaration  in  one  of 
Prescott's  letters  to  him  :  "  It  did  me  good  to  see  your  hand 
writing  ;  but  I  would  rather  see  yourself."  Even  into  the 
peaceful  affairs  of  this  association,  the  influence  of  the  war 
penetrated ;  but  at  its  close  the  liberal  founder  of  the  institu 
tion  which  bears  his  name,  auspiciously  interfered  to  effect  a 
reconciliation.  In  his  diary  Mr.  Kennedy,  who  was  abroad  at 
the  time,  gives  the  following  interesting  statement : 

"  When  Mr.  Peabody  came  to  Baltimore  to  assist  in  the 
Inauguration  of  the  Institute  on  the  25th  of  October,  1866, — 
at  which  I  was  not  present,  having  gone  to  Europe  in  the  pre 
vious  July, — the  Trustees,  after  the  ceremonies  of  the  occasion 
were  over,  gave  a  dinner  to  Mr.  Peabody,  at  which  all  the  mem 
bers  of  the  Board,  or  all  who  were  in  town  and  able  to  attend, 
were  present.  The  estrangements  produced  by  the  war  had 
up  to  the  time  of  the  Inauguration,  severed  the  Board  so  com 
pletely  that  the  two  parties,  the  loyal  and  disloyal  men,  never, 
with  few  exceptions,  met  together  during  the  five  years  of  the 
strife.  We  stood  about  thirteen  loyal  to  some  nine  or  ten  (there 
being  some  absentees)  against  the  Government.  The  secession 
party  even  refused  to  take  any  part  in  the  meeting  or  manage 
ment  of  the  Institute.  At  the  Inauguration  the  whole  Board, 
or  nearly  the  whole  Board  were  present.  At  the  dinner  that 
followed,  Mr.  Peabody  made  a  short  speech  full  of  his  charac 
teristic  benevolence,  and  gave  a  solemn  exhortation  to  the  mem 
bers  of  the  Board,  praying  them  to  forgive  and  forget  all  that 
had  passed,  and  assuring  them  that  it  was  his  dearest  wish  to  see 
them  renew  their  old  brotherhood  and  work  together  in  per 
fect  harmony.  He  wished  to  effect  this  reconciliation  himself 
whilst  he  was  here  with  them — and  now  at  their  present  feast 
to  give  a  pledge  of  their  restored  regard  by  shaking  hands 


398  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

all  around  at  the  table.  His  speech  had  a  most  touching  con 
clusion  when  the  company  rose  j  and  saluted  each  other,  as  he 
proposed,  and  gentlemen  who  had  not  met  or  spoken  to  one 
another  for  years,  shook  hands  and  renewed  their  friendship. 
It  was  just  after  this  action,  that  Charles  Howard  rose  and 
made  some  very  kind  and  generous  allusions  to  myself,  the 
President  of  the  Board,  then  absent,  and  offered  a  most  com 
plimentary  tribute  to  me  in  a  toast,  to  which  all  responded 
with  the  most  emphatic  good-will.  Pennington  gave  me  a  full 
and  pleasant  account  of  the  scene  in  a  letter  which  reached  me 
soon  afterwards  in  Europe." 

Mr.  Kennedy  notes  his  last  conversation  with  Mr.  Peabody, 
thus : 

Newport,  Sept.  21,  1869. — On  the  i3th,  Monday,  I  had  an 
interview  with  Mr.  Peabody.  He  had  come  here  the  night 
before  from  Boston,  and  was  the  guest  of  Mr.  Sam.  Wetmore. 
He  came  expressly  to  meet  me  here  and  to  converse  with  me 
about  the  Institute.  I  called  on  him  at  noon  and  sat  about  an 
hour,  which  was  as  long  as  he  had  strength  to  talk  to  me.  He 
was  very  feeble  and  lay  on  the  sofa,  apparently  short  of  breath, 
and  often  suffering  pain  from  too  much  effort.  He  surprised 
me  by  telling  me  that  he  intended  to  leave  Newport  that  night 
at  eight  in  the  New  York  boat,  and  to  continue  his  journey  at 
eight  o'clock  to  morrow  to  Baltimore.  He  said  he  wanted  me  to 
accompany  him,  as  he  wished  to  meet  the  Trustees  the  day 
after  his  arrival.  I  told  him  it  was  not  in  my  power  to  go  with 
him,  and  especially  in  such  rapid  travel  ;  that  I  was  very  much 
out  of  health  and  not  able  to  endure  the  fatigue  ;  wondered 
greatly  to  see  him  attempting  such  a  journey  in  his  condition. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  and  nothing  would  stop  him.  I 
asked  when  he  would  return.  He  said  on  Wednesday  I  return 
to  Philadelphia ; — stay  with  Macalester  till  Friday,  then  to 
New  York  arid  remain  at  Wetmore's  till  Wednesday,  when  I 
sail  for  England  in  the  Scotia.  This  was  a  secret  of  which  I 
was  not  to  speak,  as  he  did  not  wish  the  day  of  departure  to 
be  known.  In  conversation  in  regard  to  the  Institute,  he  told 


TIIK    PEABODT    INSTITUTE.  399 

me  that  he  entirely  concurred  with  me  in  the  propriety  of  the 
policy  I  had  suggested  in  my  last  anniversary  letters  to  him  ; 
the  principal  idea  there  suggested  being  a  resolve  to  hold  on 
to  the  capital  or  principal  of  our  fund,  and  to  construct  our 
new  buildings  out  of  the  accumulation  from  the  interest  When 
I  parted  with  him  it  was  with  an  understanding  that  I  should 
meet  him  in  New  York  for  further  conference  after  his  visit  to 
Baltimore.  After  dinner  E.  and  M.  called  upon  him  and,  after 
a  short  interview,  took  an  affectionate  leave,  which  both  parties 
felt  was  very  probably  a  final  one." 

One  of  the  last  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  labors  was  his  Report 
as  President  of  the  Institute,  dated  Feb.  i2th,  1870.  It  is  a 
clear,  judicious  and  well  authenticated  statement  of  its  affairs,  a 
survey  of  its  doings  and  prospects,  with  excellent  suggestions 
for  its  future  development.  His  remarks  on  the  Library  are 
characteristic  : 

"  Our  country  is  yet  far  from  being  gifted  with  a  Library 
completely  supplied  to -meet  these  requisites  and  fully  to  satis 
fy  the  research  of  students  in  their  pursuit  of  that  kind  of 
knowledge  which,  being  of  rare  demand,  does  not  ordinarily 
find  a  place  in  private  collections.  We  are  aware  how  often 
the  students  and  scholars  of  the  United  States,  especially 
those  engaged  in  scientific  and  historical  investigations,  have 
found  themselves  compelled  to  resort  to  foreign  libraries  for 
aid  which  they  could  not  find  at  home.  Even  the  history  of  our 
own  continent  cannot,  at  this  day,  be  fully  authenticated  from 
our  own  collections.  And  although  this  impediment  to  accurate 
research  is  gradually  lessening  before  the  awakened  enterprise 
of  the  present  time,  still,  it  is  our  part, — as  I  am  sure  it  was 
Mr.  Peabody's  wish  we  should  so  regard  it,  to  use  the  munif 
icent  donation  with  which  we  are  entrusted  in  the  careful,  per 
sistent  and  intelligent  application  of  our  means  to  the  gradual 
accumulation  of  every  thing  notable  in  literature  and  science 
as  necessary  to  the  pursuits  of  the  scholar.  I  esteem  it  to  be 
the  peculiar  excellence  of  Mr.  Peabody's  design,  that  he  has 
given  it  pre-eminently  this  character  of  a  National  gift,— a  sig- 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


nally  patriotic  endowment  —  in  the  broad  foundation  he  has 
laid  for  it  and  in  the  perennial  supply  of  means  for  its  increase, 
by  which  it  may,  in  good  time,  remove  the  reproach  to  which  I 
have  alluded.  If  we  and  our  successors,  his  representatives, 
adopt  this  view  of  the  work  before  us,  and  do  our  duty  in  con 
formity  with  this  interpretation  of  it,  and  thus  bring  into  fruit 
ful  existence  his  conception,  we  may  predict  that  no  act  of  his, 
among  his  many  good  deeds,  will  survive  to  so  late  a  poster 
ity  or  render  his  name  so  familiar  or  so  grateful  to  the  distant 
generations  of  our  country,  as  the  Library  which  he  has  charged 
us  to  create." 


CORRESPONDENCE. 


401 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Correspondence. 

A  PLAN  for  funding  the  arrears  of  interest  of  the  State 
debt,  led  Mr.  Kennedy  to  an  interesting  correspondence 
on  certain  legal  points  with  Chancellor  Kent,  Chief-Justice 
Story,  and  Marshall  and  other  eminent  lawyers  of  the  past  gen 
eration.  His  letters  to  ladies  are  graceful  and  piquant,  and 
among  his  female  correspondents  were  many  of  the  most  in 
telligent  and  charming  women  of  our  own  country  and  Europe. 
A  remarkable  illustration  of  his  patient  courtesy  is  evinced  in 
a  long  and  admirably  argued  reply  to  some  objections  which 
Wirt's  daughter  made  to  his  conscientious  criticism  on  her  fa 
ther's  literary  style  and  youthful  indiscretions,  in  his  Biography. 
His  correspondence  with  his  uncle,  Philip  Pendleton,  of 
Berkeley,  Va.,  extended  over  many  years  and  evinces  a  strong 
mutual  attachment.  There  were  frequent  visits  interchanged 
between  them,  and  a  rare  degree  of  personal  and  political  sym 
pathy.  To  this  endeared  relative  he  is  freely  and  fondly  com 
municative.  Mr.  Pendleton  was  a  genuine  specimen  of  the 
old  school  Virginia  gentlemen,  a  Federalist  of  the  strictest 
pattern,  and  one  of  those  rural  lords  of  the  manor,  so  well  de 
scribed  in  "  Swallow  Barn,"  easy-going,  warm-hearted,  intelli 
gent,  with  intense  local  pride,  tenacity  of  opinion,  and  a  kind 
of  philosophical  dolce  far  niente  habit  characteristic  of  the 
landed  gentry  of  his  State.  He  married  a  wealthy  lady,  and 
had  three  sons.  He  had  little  sympathy  with  the  spirit  of  the 
age ;  detested  its  social  innovations,  and  ignored  its  locomo 
tive  facilities  ;  except  an  occasional  visit  to  his  favorite  nephew 
in  Baltimore,  his  excursions  were  limited  to  a  summer  sojourn 


402  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

at  Berkeley  Springs.  At  Martinsbtirg  and  in  all  the  country 
round,  he  was  looked  up  to  and  consulted  ;  unenterprising  and 
old-fashioned  in  his  tastes,  he  was  patriotic  and  contented ; 
he  was  fond  of  argument  and  a  game  of  backgammon ;  in  a 
word,  he  was  very  much  such  a  man  as  the  Frank  Merriwether 
portrayed  by  his  nephew.  Ke  was  a  fine-looking  .man,  six 
feet  high,  had  been  educated  for  the  law,  and  to  an  advanced 
age,  retained  his  faculties  and  much  of  his  personal  influence. 
He  followed  his  nephew's  career  with  pride  and  sympathy ; 
depended  upon  him  for  news,  political  and  social ;  and  their 
intercourse  was  not  less  frank  than  intimate  and  affectionate. 
"  The  old  people  and  I  staid  at  home,"  writes  Mr.  Kennedy  from 
his  uncle's  house,  to  his  wife,  "and  had  a  regular  dish  of 
mesmerism,  to  say  nothing  of  John  Tyler  and  the  hard  times." 
"  John  will  in  a  short  time  be  gone  to  Washington,"  writes 
Mr.  Gray,  urging  the  old  gentleman  to  come  to  them,  "  and 
the  full  harmony  of  the  anticipated  nodes  will  be  wanting, 
without  his  aid."  The  unenterprising  tendencies  of  his  class 
are  sometimes  naively  exhibited  in  Mr.  Pendleton's  letters ; 
thus,  in  acknowledging  one  of  his  nephew's  addresses,  he 
writes,  "  I  dare  say  that,  like  old  Polonius,  I  have  attained  to 
a  plentiful  lack  of  wit,  but  I  beg  leave  to  say  that  the  address 
of  yours  before  the  Mechanics'  Institute  is,  in  my  judgment,  an 
admirable  one,  tasteful  and  appropriate  in  the  highest  degree, 
albeit  it  contains,  as  it  inevitably  must,  some  fuss  and  fustian 
about  the  dignity  of  labor.  I  feel  disposed  to  talk  to  you  as 
Hamlet  did  to  Horatio — '  thou  art  a  man,'  etc. ;  but,  no,  I 
will  not ;  there  is  a  somewhat  grave  objection  to  wearing  in 
one's  '  heart  of  hearts,'  persons  of  errant  propensities  and  fan 
ciers  of  European  tours  and  Kentucky  mammoth  caves ;  nev 
ertheless  I  will  say  to  you  that  the  comfort  you  have  been  to 
me  for  the  last  thirty  years,  seems  to  increase  as  I  grow  older." 
In  the  letters  addressed  to  his  uncle  from  Washington,  we 
have  vivid  glimpses  of  his  activity  in  politics.  "  Just  a  word," 
he  writes  after  his  first  election  to  Congress,  "  until  I  have 
time  to  breathe,  for  I  have  not  been  in  a  condition  for  even 


CORRESPONDENCE.  403 

such  poor  thoughts  as  I  may  put  in  such  a  letter  as  this,  from 
the  moment  of  my  nomination  until  to-day.  It  has  been  an 
interval  of  hard  labor,  intense  excitement,  bewildering  success 
and  frantic  rejoicing."  The  good-humor  with  which  he  took 
defeat  is  apparent  in  his  remonstrance  with  his  uncle  on  the 
delay  of  a  promised  visit — "  What  is  the  reason  you  have  not 
come  down  according  to  promise  ?  Is  it  so  deep  a  matter  to 
be  beaten,  that  a  man  may  not  look  his  friends  in  the  face  ? 
In  whatever  station  I  may  be  placed  it  is  my  first  wish  and 
purpose  to  do  all  I  can  towards  the  secure  and  permanent 
elevation  of  the  Whig  party  of  Maryland  in  the  esteem  of  the 
country.  What  a  glorious  exit  I  have  made  from  political  life 
protem  !  You  know  I  wished  to  be  at  home  this  winter,  par 
ticularly  wished  it,  because  I  had  the  Life  of  Wirt  to  finish, 
and  half  a  dozen  other  matters  besides  ;  now  have  I  not  come 
off  well  ?  I  have  the  honor  of  a  nomination  forced  upon  me, 
when  I  had,  in  fact,  declined  it ;  and  the  good  reputation  of 
standing  by  my  friends  even  in  the  face  of  certain  defeat.  I 
have  lost  nothing  but  the  election.  What  better  fate  can  I 
ask  than  this  ?" 

In  no  manner  can  the  employments,  sympathies  and  opin 
ions  of  Mr.  Kennedy  be  so  justly  revealed,  as  by  his  letters  to 
kindred,  friends  and  political  associates  ;  a  few  random  speci 
mens  of  his  correspondence  are  therefore  given  : 

BALTIMORE,  October  23d,  1844. 
To  MRS.  N.  C.  KENNEDY. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER  : — When  a  woman  comes  to  your  time 
of  life,  she  has  either  squared  her  sails  for  a  steady  voyage  right 
on  before  that  wind  of  doctrine,  which,  after  long  experience, 
she  has  found  most  to  her  liking,  or  neglecting  this  steadfast 
policy,  suffers  herself  to  be  blown  about  by  every  little  whiffling 
breeze  of  opinion  that  anybody  may  think  proper  to  blow 
upon  her.  Now  I  am  very  seriously  apprehensive  that  those 
two  old  gentlemen  uncle  Phil  and  his  senior,  Andrew  Kenne 
dy,  have  set  themselves  up  on  purpose  to  zephyr  you  about, 


404:  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

just  as  it  shall  please  their  peculiar  whimsicalities,  to  sway 
you,  touching  your  railroad  stock — sheer  envy  ! — sheer  envy 
in  these  invidious  wights,  of  your  great  wealth,  and  of  that 
commendable  thrift  by  which,  rising  superior  to  Virginia  im 
mobility  and  Martinsburg-in-particular  cast-anchoredness-on- 
the-shoal-of-things-as-they-are — I  say  in  sheer  envy  of  your 
having  got  ahead  of  these  drawbacks,  they  are  trying  to  fright 
en  you  into  the  notion  of  parting  with  your  prudence  and  of 
putting  you  on  a  level  with  all  things  else  in  your  a-hundred- 
years-ago  state.  Now  take  my  advice  in  opposition,  and  don't 
part  with  one  cent  of  your  stock  on  any  account.  It  is  begin 
ning  to  divide  well  and  will  continue  to  divide. 

BALTIMORE,  Jan.  12, 1846. 
To  HON.  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : — This  morning's  mail  brought  me  your  kind 
note.  Whether  you  have  been  lying  at  lurch  to  catch  the  first 
trespasser  upon  your  domain,  or  have  taken  a  peep  into  Rapin 
just  on  purpose  to  gome 'over  me,  I  am  obliged  to  confess  the 
Lord  Treasurer  and  to  thank  you  for  setting  me  right  Rapin 
says,  "  Thomas  Sackville,  Earl  of  Dorset  and  Lord  Treasurer, 
dying  suddenly  as  he  was  sitting  at  the  council  table,  Robert 
Cecil,  Earl  of  Salisbury,  succeeded  him  in  his  post  (1608).  He 
was  a  lord  of  great  genius,  and  though  crooked  before  and 
behind,  nature  supplied  that  defect  with  great  endowment  of 
mind."  Query — which  of  them  was  crooked,  Sackville  or 
Cecil  ?  He  alludes  to  the  latter,  for  the  Lord  Treasurer  Cecil 
was  remarked  for  his  deformity,  which  was  somewhat  oddly 
associated  with  a  strong  inclination  for  gallantry,  as  you  may 
read  in  the  story  of  Lady  Derby,  and  the  miniature  which 
Queen  Elizabeth  took  from  her.  As  you  are  fond  of  scenting 
out  a  piece  of  old  history  I  will  leave  you  to  find  the  story 
where  you  can,  being  somewhat  inclined  to  avenge  myself  for 
being  sacked — as  the  Irish  school-master  has  it — so  quickly  by 
you.  "  Tim,  you  see,  went  into  his  entrance  examinayshuns, 
and  one  of  the  fellows  came  to  examine  him,  but  divil  a  long 


CORRESPONDENCE.  40  5 

it  was  till  Tim  sacked  him.  'Go  back  again,'  says  Tim, 
*  and  sincl  some  one  that's  able  to  tache  me,  for  you're  not.' 
So  another  greater  scholar  came  to  thry  Tim,  and  did  thry 
him,  and  Tim  made  a  hare  si  him  before  all  that  was  in  the 
place — five  or  six  thousand  ladies  and  gintlemen,  at  laste. 
The  great  lamed  fellows  thin  began  to  look  odd  enough,  so 
they  picked  out  the  best  scholar  among  them,  but  one,  and 
slipped  him  at  Tim  :  but  well  becomes  Tim,  the  never  a  long 
it  was  till  he  had  him  too  as  dumb  as  a  post."  Now,  if  you 
will  sack  Calhoun,  Benton,  and  Cass,  as  fast  as  they  are  let 
slip  at  you  in  this  original  examination,  we  shall  say  that  Tim 
Kearney  himself  had  better  keep  out  of  your  way.  With  kind 
regards  I  am, 

My  dear  sir, 

Very  truly  yours, 

J.  P.  KENNEDY. 

NEW  BRUNSWICK,  FREDEKICTOWN.  ) 
June  24th,  1847.  \ 

To  MRS.  KENNEDY. 

MY  DEAR  E.  : — This  is  the  cold,  gray  north.  It  has  rained 
every  day  since  we  left  Boston  until  to  day  ;  and  now  we  have 
the  most  beautiful  sun-shine  with  a  pleasant  flavor  of  summer. 

Bangor  is  a  large  town  of  some  15,000  inhabitants.  We 
left  this  city  on  Friday,  for  Houlton,  taking  twelve  miles  of  rail 
road  to  Old  Town,  and  there  a  queer  steamboat  called  the  Gov- 
enor  Neptune,  for  Mattawamkeag  on  the  Penobscot.  This  boat 
was  principally  freighted  with  lumbermen  returning  home  af 
ter  finishing  their  work  for  the  season.  They  are  an  admira 
ble,  hardy,  robust  class  of  men  very  numerous  in  this  State,  who 
dress  in  a  picturesque  way  in  scarlet  shirts  of  some  twilled 
goods  of  woollen,  generally  worked  about  the  breast  and  collar 
with  worsted  figures.  They  wear  no  coat  over  this,  and  all 
have  round  hats  something  like  my  beaver  of  last  summer,  cov 
ered  with  oil  skin.  The  Penobscot  is  full  of  floating  timber 
which  was  cut  by  these  men  last  winter,  and  which  at  this  sea- 


406  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

son  is  floated  down  to  be  caught  in  booms,  generally  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Old  Town.  The  river  is  very  beautiful, 
showing  some  severe  rapids  which  our  boat  breasted  very 
gallantly. 

The  country  between  Bangor  and  Houlton  is  very  wild  and 
unsettled,  and  our  last  fifty  miles,  indeed  the  whole  route  from 
Mattawamkeag  until  we  came  to  the  Meduonekeag,  which  is 
about  two  miles  from  Houlton,  is  a  perfect  wilderness,  penetra 
ted  only  by  the  military  road  made  by  Government — a  great  flat 
plain,  thickly  covered  with  this  northern  forest  of  spruce,  fir, 
white  pine,  larch  and  hemlock,  birch  too,  and  sugar  maple.  At 
Houlton  the  country  becomes  almost  mountainous.  We  set 
out,  after  a  short  delay,  for  Woodstock,  and  had  a  fine  drive 
over  a  pretty  country  and  an  excellent  road.  Then  a  vile 
dirty  inn  at  Woodstock  where  the  St.  John's  is  to  be  seen — one 
of  the  most  beautiful  of  rivers.  The  scenery  reminds  one  of 
the  North  River  above  Troy.  The  banks  are  high  and  well 
tilled,  the  river  a  glossy  black — like  a  raven's  wing — the  glossy 
St.  John's  the  poets  will  call  it  by  and  by. 

BALTIMORE,  April  3, 1848. 
To  SIR  RICHARD  PAKENHAM. 

MY  DEAR  PAKENHAM  : — It  was  about  the  i3th  of  February 
when  I  received  your  letter  of  the  nth  and  23d  of  January. 
Since  that  date  an  almost  daily  vision  has  been  floating  in  the 
air  before  me  of  a  Windle  pen  with  rosewood  handle, — "  the 
handle  towards  my  hand,"  and  on  the  nib  and  barrel  gouts  of 
ink,  marshalling  me  the  way  I  ought  to  go, — that  is,  to  sit 
down  and  write  to  my  excellent  and  well -beloved  friend  at 
Coolure,  Castle  Pollard.  But  as  often  as  the  vision  came,  that 
devil  Procrastination,  whispered,  "  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
and  to-morrow."  So  there  were  two  of  us  playing  Macbeth  to 
juggle  you  out  of  your  rights  by  putting  or!  an  honest  ac 
knowledgment  of  your  kind  and  most  welcome  letter.  The 
truth  is,  the  frequency  and  the  certainty  of  our  intercourse 
across  the  Atlantic  rather  encourages  these  delays.  There  is 


CORRESPONDENCE.  4-07 

something  irresistible  both  to  a  lazy  man  (which  is  not  my 
quality)  and  to  a  very  busy  one  (which  is,  just  now,)  in  the 
ready  resource  of  "  the  next  steamer,"  by  which  we  can  write 
a  fortnight  hence  as  well  as  to-day  ;  and  now  that  the  steamers 
sail  weekly,  I  am  apt  to  be  as  negligent  as  if  you  were  only  in 
Washington.  The  entire  convenience  of  the  arrangement  al 
most  suspends  correspondence.  For  this  very  reason  it  is  that 
I  have  not  yet  made  Winthrop  a  visit  this  winter.  I  hope  to  do 
so  "  some  of  these  days,"  which  means  within  a  year  or  so, 
certainly.  If  you  would  only  go  to  China  or  the  Antipodes. 
I  would  scrupulously  write  by  every  mail. 

How  have  you  kept  your  breath  in  the  grand  whirlwind 
which  has  just  toppled  over  Louis  Philippe  ? — so  near  as  you 
were.  At  this  distance  we  are  overwhelmed  with  amazement, 
flung  off  our  balance,  electrified,  and  struck,  not  dumb,  but  into 
a  universal  babblement  and  gossip  of  interjections  by  this  stu 
pendous  "  coup  d'etat"  Was  there  ever  any  thing  so  sudden,  so 
decisive,  so  rapid  in  the  catastrophe  ?  It  is  a  great,  gorgeous, 
crashing,  thundering  and  volcanic  opera,  apparently  got  up 
after  full  rehearsal  in  private,  with  the  programme,  scenery 
and  decorations  carefully  prepared.  And  then  it  is  so  truly 
French,  with  such  a  queer  mixture  of  the  sentimental  and  po 
etical  with  the  actual.  There  is  a  frantic  poet  as  the  leader  of 
the  orchestra,  marking  time  and  directing  every  wild  burst  of 
the  chorus  as  well  as  the  softest  modulations  of  the  solos. 
Then  we  have  associated  with  him  Fourier  and  St.  Lucien  to 
assist  in  the  overture,  and  the  base  viol  in  the  hands  of  the 
great  astronomers.  You  see  that  gentlest  of  sucking  doves, 
the  mob  of  Paris,  sacking  the  Tuilleries ;  and  for  the  sake  of 
sentiment  and  theatrical  effect,  bearing  away  the  throne,  to 
burn  it  at  the  base  of  the  column  of  July  ! !  The  first  act  ends 
with  a  general  chorus  of  the  whole  city  in  the  Marsellaise 
Hymn,  sung  in  the  style  of  the  most  passionate  bravura.  Then 
comes  that  wild  and  picturesque  torchlight  funeral  procession, 
and  the  dirge  of  Le  Mort  de  Roland, — the  embrace  of  the  peo 
ple  with  "  The  Line,"  and  the  surrender  of  the  National  Guard 


408  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

to  the  Genius  of  Liberty.  This  finale  seems  to  have  been  a 
dance  of  all  the  characters — mustache  performing  a  polka 
with  a  grisette  ;  and  a  steel-cased  cuirassier  waltzing  in  sabre 
and  spurs  with  a  marchande  des  modes.  Is  it  not  the  most 
comical  and  the  most  sublime  pageant, — take  it  altogether, — 
that  the  world  ever  saw  ? 

How  they  will  go  on  in  the  next  stages  of  the  movement, 
we  shall  see.  So  far,  I  suppose,  we  have  only  had  what  Lam- 
artine  and  his  friends  have  been  preparing  for  some  time 
past,  in  anticipation  of  the  death  of  Louis  Philippe.  All  this 
action  of  the  Provisional  Government  has,  most  likely,  been 
"  cut  and  dry"  for  the  occasion.  But  when  they  come  to  the 
Universal  Suffrage  of  the  Qth  of  April,  and  the  Congress  of 
nine  hundred  Frenchmen  on  -the  2oth,  I  apprehend  we  shall 
see  some  lively  scenes.  They  will  be  able  then,  pretty  fairly, 
to  compute  their  fitness  for  Republican  government.  At  least, 
we,  the  spectators  shall,  if  they  do  not.  They  have  laid  out 
a  very  visible  approach  to  a  new  Utopia,  in  the  first  demands 
of  tha  workingmen, — short  hours  and  full  pay, — wages  one 
hundred  per  cent,  increased.  Rents  reduced  fifty  per  cent. 
This,  too,  to  be  a  government  measure  !  We,  on  this  side  of 
the  Atlantic,  have  a  good  deal  to  learn  yet, — to  follow  French 
progress,  republicanism  must  put  on  seven-league  boots.  I 
doubt  if  Ireland  could  improve  upon  these  demands.  The 
other  nations  of  Europe,  I  suppose,  will  make  up  their  minds 
to  allow  this  experiment  full  scope.  There  is  one  prominent 
feature  in  this  Revolution  which  has  been  a  good  omen.  It 
marches  by  the  light  of  that  of  1792,  looking  to  it  warily,  as  a 
beacon  to  warn  the  people  against  the  dangers  of  the  old 
movement.  There  is  no  guillotine,  no  incivism,  no  dicta 
tion  of  Jacobin  clubs,  no  foreign  conquests,  annexations  as  we 
call  them  now,  as  yet!  England,  /  trust,  will  keep  on  good 
terms  with  the  new.  nation,  whatever  shape  it  takes,  and  leave 
the  Frenchmen  to  make  a  good  government  if  they  can,  and 
which  I  sincerely  hope  they  may  make. 

You  will  see  by  the  papers   how  the  enthusiasm  of  France 


CORRESPONDENCE.  409 

•affects  us.  Congress  will  deliberate  very  considerately  upon 
the  political  questions  it  may  raise,  and  we  shall  watch  events 
with  many  hopes  and  many  fears. 

Very  truly  your  friend, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

MAY  9, 1848. 
To  JAMES  J.  RYAN,  ESQ. 

DEAR  SIR  ; — I  perceive  by  the  published  account  of  the 
proceedings  of  the  friends  of  Ireland  last  night,  that  I  was 
honored  with  an  appointment  as  one  of  the  Vice-Presidents 
of  the  meeting.  As  I  was  not  present  on  the  occasion,  I  take 
this  opportunity  to  return  my  grateful  acknowledgment  for 
this  proof  of  the  consideration  of  those  who  constituted  the 
meeting,  and  to  assure  them  that  I  freely  unite  with  them  in 
their  sympathy  in  the  sufferings  of  that  unhappy  land  of  our 
fathers,  and  in  their  earnest  wish  to  see  her  lifted  up  from  the 
sorrow  and  degradation  which  the  accumulated  wrongs  of 
centuries  have  brought  upon  her. 

The  cause  of  Ireland  has  become  familiar  to  every  free 
and  generous  heart  in  America,  as  one  which  makes  the  most 
touching  appeal  to  the  sympathy  and  support  of  all  who  admire 
genius,  patriotism  and  courage,  and  of  all  who  can  feel  for  the 
most  complicated  and  intolerable  distresses  that  ever  visited 
a  nation.  There  can  be  but  one  sentiment  in  the  breast  of 
this  Union  in  pouring  forth  a  fervent  prayer  for  the  complete 
and  perfect  redemption  of  that  gallant  people  from  the  bitter 
ness  of  their  present  lot,  and  their  elevation  to  a  rank  among 
nations  worthy  of  their  spirit  and  their  genius. 

With  these  feelings  deeply  engraven  upon  my  heart,  I  re 
gret  that  I  am  obliged  to  dissent  from  the  resolutions  which 
were  adopted  by  the  meeting.  To  say  nothing  of  the  neutral 
ity  of  our  country,  enjoined  on  every  American  citizen,  by  our 
laws,  in  respect  to  the  domestic  quarrels  of  other  nations,  and 
which  I  hold  to  be,  though  a  moral,  an  absolute  and  peremp 
tory  prohibition  against  the  adoption  of 'any  measure  (even  in 
18 


410  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.    KENNEDY. 

a  meeting  of  private  citizens)  tending  to  foment  or  prepare 
for  a  civil  war  in  Ireland.  I  differ  from  those  who  passed 
these  resolutions,  on  other  grounds  not  less  cogent  with  me.  I 
believe  that  Ireland  can  gain  nothing  by  an  appeal  to  arms. 
I  cannot  too  strongly  deplore  what  I  conceive  to  be  the  mis 
taken  policy  which,  in  Ireland  and  in  the  United  States,  has 
suggested  this  appeal.  From  the  steady,  wise  and  peaceful 
assertion  of  her  rights,  by  which  Ireland  has  been  distinguished 
for  many  years  past,  I  was  in  hopes  she  had  come  to  a  full  con 
viction  that  in  that  career  she  was  to  win  her  noblest  triumphs  ; 
that  in  the  majesty  of  a  united  people,  firmly  and  intelli 
gently  asserting  their  unquestioned  rights  to  a  free  represen 
tative  government,  and  to  all  the  guarantees  of  liberty  known  to 
a  free  people,  she  was  destined  to  a  rare  success ;  and  that  in 
the  resort  to  arms  no  happier  issue  was  likely  to  result,  than 
increased  exasperation,  renewed  calamities,  and  the  loss  of  all 
the  advantages  her  wise  moderation  had  hitherto  gained.  I 
could  not  but  apprehend  that  in  the  fact  of  hostile  resistance, 
her  future  history  would  become  but  a  repetition  of  the  dark 
est  pages  which  belong  to  her  melancholy  past. 

Ireland  is  already  divided  on  this  momentous  question; 
and  there  is  too  much  reason  to  fear  that  there  are  many  in 
the  ranks  of  her  opponents  who  seek  no  more  welcome  occa 
sion  than  that  which  shall  bring  the  difference  between  them  to 
the  arbitrament  of  arms.  These  once  taken  up,  and  the  par 
ties  arrayed  against  each  other  in  the  field,  humanity  may 
again  have  cause  to  shudder  at  the  disasters  of  an  extermina 
ting  war  of  races  and  religions,  in  which,  whatever  may  be  the 
end,  the  present  generation  of  Ireland  will  have  to  weep  over 
a  devastated  country  seamed  with  the  blood  traces  of  rapine, 
carnage  and  destruction. 

I  know  there  are  many  who  hope  for  better  things,  and  who- 
have  persuaded  themselves  to  believe  that  a  new  and  more  au 
spicious  condition  of  society  may  be  established  by  a  quick 
and  successful  revolution.     I  find  no  grounds  for  confidence 
in  such  an  opinion,  and  my  hopes  are,  as  my  counsel  would 


CORRESPONDENCE.  41 1 

be,  that  Ireland  should  stillrely  upon  the  justice  of  her  cause 
and  the  power  of  her  intellect  to  commend  it  to  the  consid 
eration  of  those  who  have  the  control  of  her  destiny.  The 
nineteenth  century  has  witnessed  many  triumphs  of  truth  and 
reason  over  ancient  prejudices  and  hatreds.  I  trust  it  is  re 
served  yet  to  witness  many  more  in  the  eventual  consumma 
tion  of  free  government  and  the  peaceful  victories  of  right  over 
might. 

To  distressed  and  down-trodden  Ireland,  suffering  under 
the  combined  miseries  of  famine  and  bad  government,  I 
should  be  glad  to  see  her  sons  in  the  United  States,  and  all 
others  of  our  free  citizens,  tendering  the  sympathy  of  feeling 
hearts  and  the  dispassionate  counsels  of  steadfast,  peaceable 
and  legal  resistance  of  wrong,  with  clear  and  manly  proclama 
tion  of  her  rights,  adjuring  her  to  avoid  the  sword  as  the  most 
ineffectual  weapon  which  Christian  Irishmen  may  use  to  attain 
their  ends.  If  we  have  money  to  give  let  it  be  for  bread,  not 
blood.  If  our  advice  can  reach  any  heart  in  Ireland,  let  it 
speak  Peace  !  not  War. 

The  resolutions  of  the  recent  meeting  show  me  that  these 
sentiments  are  not  in  accord  with  the  temper  which  prevailed 
on  that  occasion.  It  is  because  I  differ  in  opinion  with  that 
meeting  in  these  points,  that  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  address 
this  letter  to  you  as  its  presiding  officer.  The  subject  is  too 
important  to  allow  me  to  be  content  under  any  misinterpreta 
tion  of  my  views  upon  it.  What  I  have  said  here  is  the  con 
scientious  utterance  of  my  own  feelings,  and  I  hope  it  will  be 
received  by  the  Irish  citizens  of  Baltimore,  in  the  same  spirit 
of  good-will  and  respect  in  which  it  is  offered. 

Very  truly,  yours,  etc., 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  Dec.  30, 1848. 
To  MRS.  N.  C.  KENNEDY. 

Just  as  I  was  thinking  I  would  write  to  you  your  letter 
came.  A  happy  New  Year  to  you,  my  dear  mother,  and  all 


412  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

manner  of  blessings  to  make  your  old  age  comfortable.  We 
are  all  growing  old,  but  it  is  pleasant  tQ  think,  comfortably,  in 
that  way.  Lizzy  is  fat  and  hearty,  and  so  is  Mart. ;  her  foot 
has  just  got  well.  Mr.  Gray  has  his  usual  attacks  every  few 
weeks,  but  weathers  them  wonderfully.  Uncle  Jo.  mopes  and 
grows  older,  and  will  do  so  to  the  age  of  Methusaleh.  But  the 
world  will  wag;  and,  let  it,  who  cares  ?  Bones  will  ache,  too, 
as  you  know  right  well ;  but  bones  have  a  right  to  their  own 
twinges  after  a  certain  age,  and  will  have  it.  I  am  glad  that, 
with  these  drawbacks  of  yours,  you  write  so  merrily.  So, 
again,  dear  mother,  God  bless  you,  and  a  happy  New  Year  to 
you,  with  as  many  returns  as  you  would  like  to  have !  Con 
gratulate  Virginia  for  us  on  the  multiplication  of  her  boys, 
though  we  think  she  would  have  been  more  considerate  of  her 
own  comfort  and  companionship  hereafter,  if  she  would  direct 
her  attention  more  distinctly,  for  a  few  turns,  at  leastj  to  girls 
instead  of  boys.  Tell  her  that  I  hate  boys  if  they  come  any 
thing  short  of  paragons.  There  is  but  one  step  from  the  par 
agon  to  the  imp,  in  that  herd.  If  she  would  oblige  me,  there 
fore,  she.  would  deal  a  little  more  in  the  fancy  article  of  daugh 
ters,  which  I  like  best."  *  *  *  * 

Ever,  my  dear  mother,  most  truly 

and. affectionately  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMOKE,  Nov.  28, 1849. 
To  PHILIP  HONE,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : — I  have  yours  of  the  2ist.  As  to  that 
matter  of  the  pig,  you  shall  have  the  flitch  in  the  best  possi 
ble  state,  although  if  ought,  in  the  due  order  of  the  rite,  which 
was  long  celebrated  with  such  note  at  Dunmore,  to  be  more 
properly  the  peculium  of  Mrs.  Hone,  who  as  a  good  wife,  I 
doubt  not,  has  been  entitled  to  it  a  score  of  times.  I  will  give 
direction  to  our  learned  surgeon  and  physician  of  this  Bacon 
family — he  who  dissects  and  cures  the  pigs  of  our  establishment, 
to  pick  you  out  the  finest  at  the  right  time,  which,  I  suppose, 


CORRESPONDENCE.  413 

will  be  in  February  or  March,  and  send  it  to  you  as  the  first 
offering  of  the  season. 

I  don't  know  how  I  can  get  you  a  copy  of  "  The  Old  Bach 
elor,"  as  such  commodities  are  rather  scarce  with  us  in  this  re 
gion.  I  think  the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  reprint  it,  which 
enterprise  I  am  now  meditating,  with  another  volume  of  Wirt's 
remains,  chiefly  of  a  religious  or  devotional  character.  <k  The 
British  Spy"  must  bQ,  in  New  York.  The  Harpers  published  an 
edition  of  it  in  1832,  and  I  have  no  doubt  can  tell  you  how  to 
find  it. 

My  second  edition  is  in  hand,  and  will  show  its  face,  I 
hope,  by  the  first  of  January.  I  have  taken  your  suggestion 
in  regard  to  the  reflection  on  the  Yankees  in  the  first  volume, 
and  have  directed  the  printer  to  leave  it  out,  although  I  think 
you  misapprehend  the  reason  that  led  me  to  introduce  it.  You 
will  see  that  it  is  prefaced  with  a  declaration  of  its  absurdity 
and  with  a  censure  upon  the  prejudice  which  it  evinced.  I 
intended  rather  to  show  off  and  rebuke  the  folly  and  ignorance 
of  such  opinions  in  the  South  by  the  contrast,  which  I  was 
enabled  to  furnish  of  Wirt'i:  own  convictions  in  regard  to  New 
England  when  he  came  to  know  the  people  there  by  personal 
acquaintance ;  all  of  which  you  will  see  strongly  expressed  in 
the  fourteenth  chapter  of  the  second  volume,  where  he  deals 
in  the  most  lavish  praise  of  those  good  people,  and  expresses 
a  sincere  and  honest  contrition  for  his  former  errors  in  refer 
ence  to  them.  This,  doubtless,  you  have  noted  as  you  perused 
that  volume,  and  it  was  to  give  more  point  to  that  latter  view  of 
New  England,  that  I  introduced  the  first,  hoping  that  it  would 
furnish  a  lesson  worthy  of  remembrance  and  imitation  to  those 
ultra  Southerners,  who  are  accustomed  to  malign  the  North  and 
its  institutions.  However,  I  have  bowed  to  your  better  judg 
ment,  and  expunged  the  worst  feature  of  the  letter  you  have 
remarked  upon.  Read  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  Vol.  II., 
again,  and  tell  me  if  my  impression  of  its  effect  is  not  just. 
Wirt's  associations  were,  for  a  long  time,  so  entirely  local  that 
he  had  no  horizon  beyond  Virginia,  but  when  he  got  a  view 


414  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

of  New  England,  he  fell  into  raptures  which  are  all  the  more 
agreeable  for  being  so  thoroughly  honest,  and  which  triumph 
over  a  thousand  early  prejudices. 

Yours,  ever  and  truly, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  Dec.  29,  1849. 
To  MRS.  N.  C.  KENNEDY. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER  : — I  got  your  letter  of  the  26th  yester 
day.  It  is  quite  a  pleasant  Christmas  gift  to  get  such  good 
tidings  from  you  at  this  season,  for  although  you  tell  me  you 
are  tied  to  the  chimney-corner,  yet  that  is  about  the  pleasant- 
est  place  one  can  find  in  this  wintry  season,  and  to  bones  as 
venerable  as  yours,  it  is  no  small  boon  that  rheumatism  should 
keep  at  such  a  respectful  distance.  So  God  bless  you,  my 
dear  mother,  and  may  he  make  that  chimney-corner  a  fairy 
land  to  you  through  many  a  winter  yet !  The  notes  of  gayety 
sent  forth  from  the  sports  of  younger  generations,  do  not  echo 
the  less  pleasantly  at  our  firesides  because  they  are  a  little 
way  off;  not  quite  out  of  hearing.  I  dare  say  your  fancy  made 
your  Christmas  as  comfortable,  if  not  altogether  as  merry,  as 
that  of  the  young  tribes  which  were  assembled  at  Faulkner's, 
as  it  is  quite  evident  that  you  were  there  in  spirit,  while  your 
body  was,  I  have  no  doubt,  more  snug  at  home.  Many  more 
such  Christmases  to  you,  and  Happy  New  Years  to  follow 
them !  and  at  the  end  of  all,  a  contented  surrender  of  worldly 
gifts,  for  the  infinitely  richer  delights  of  heaven.  Our  three- 
score-and-ten,  or  four-score  years  on  earth,  form  but  a  small 
item  in  the  sum  of  existence,  and  are  to  be  counted  rather  as 
the  days  of  the  imprisonment  of  a  spirit  capable  of  a  range 
both  of  thought  and  enjoyment  immeasurably  beyond  what  is 
allowed  to  us  here.  I  think  the  idea  is  expressed  by  both 
Coleridge  and  Wordsworth,  which  has  often  struck  me  with  a 
singular  force  derived  from  some  consciousness  of  its  truth 
in  my  own  reflections  ;  or,  perhaps,  from  some  instinct  of  my 
mind,  that  our  existence  here  is  but  a  fragment  of  our  total 


roii  i  :ra  i  >(  >x  DENCE.  41 5 

existence,  which  began  before  we  came  here,  and  which  con 
tinues  hereafter ;  in  fact  that  our  existence  here  is  but  an  in 
terval  of  privation  and  limited  faculty : 

"  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep,  and  a  forgetting- ; 

The  soul,  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 
And  cometh  from  afar." 

The  lines  are  Wordsworth's.  They  open  a  volume  of 
thought,  and  to  me  rather  pleasant  than  painful  anticipations. 
This  is  a  great  jump,  my  dear  mother,  from  your  Christmas 
merry-makings.  I  shall  follow  it  by  another,  and  jump  back 
to  a  matter  of  business. 

BALTIMORE,  April  2,  1850. 
To  PHILIP  PENDLETON. 

MY  DEAR  UNCLE  : — The  life  beyond  the  grave — you  know 
I  have  a  strong  and  perhaps  a  peculiar  belief  in  it — I  trust 
will  show  all  clear,  and  bring  a  long  and  happy  indemnity  for 
the  brief  troubles  here.  Poor  Phil  Cooke  has  gone  too,  since 
I  wrote  you  ;  another  emancipated  spirit  promoted  to  a  higher 
sphere  and  with  clearer  faculty  to  see  and  to  enjoy.  What  a  mere 
stepping-stone  is  this  beautiful  world  !  If  so  beautiful  the 
vestibule,  what  of  the  Temple  ?  There  are  some  pleasant  con 
nections  with  this  thought,  notwithstanding  the  gloomy  and 
fearful  teachings  of  education,  habit  and  convention  among 
mankind.  We  frighten  the  child  with  death,  and  grow  to  be 
men  in  the  same  habitual  terror.  My  own  assurance  is  strong 
that  no  universal  decree  of  nature  is  evil.  Death,  the  most 
inevitable  of  all,  is,  like  every  wholesome  law  of  human  condi 
tion,  good. 

I  have  been  exceedingly  busy  with  a  multitude  of  affairs. 
First,  for  some  ten  days,  the  concerns  of  the  University,  and 
the  ceremonies  of  the  Commencement  engrossed  all  my  time. 
I  was  made  Provost  when  I  did  not  dream  of  it,  and  after 
wards,  in  full  administration  of  my  new  office,  in  presence  of 


416  LIFE    OF    JOHN    T.  KENNEDY. 

some  thousand  spectators,  amid  strains  of  finest  music,  and 
surrounded  with  all  the  pageantry  of  a  public  show,  was  dub 
bed  Doctor  of  Laws — still  more  unexpectedly  even,  if  that 
could  be,  than  in  the  matter  of  the  election  to  the  head  of 
the  University.  All  this  kept  me  busy.  Then  came  a  matter 
we  have  now  on  hand.  The  Maryland  Historical  Society,  of 
which  I  am  Vice-President,  is  to  have  a  dinner  on  Saturday, 
and  almost  all  the  arrangements  are  in  my  hands,  exacting  all 
spare  minutes  from  me.  Add  to  this,  a  daily  supply  of  letters 
to  write,  which  I  can't  escape,  and  you  will  understand  why  I  am 
so  tardy  with  you. 

ELLICOTT'S  MILLS,  Sept,  29, 1853. 
To  Miss  ADELE  GRANGER. 

MY  DEAR  Miss  GRANGER  : — Some  ten  days  or  a  fortnight, 
perhaps,  ago,  I  had  just  got  home  from  Berkeley,  whither  I 
had  gone,  in  great  haste,  after  my  return  from  New  York, — 
flying  from  the  general  combustion  which  the  sun  had  taken  it 
into  his  head  to  kindle  up  very  suddenly  among  the  vegetables 
in  this  region.  You  know  Berkeley  has  large  pools  of  water 
where  hot  people  are  dipped  all  the  summer,  as  blacksmiths 
plunge  their  hot  iron  into  buckets  to  give  it  good  temper.  I 
had  just  got  home  and  was  very  busy  in  my  study,  with  some 
matters  in  hand  which  I  could  not  immediately  let  go,  when 
Mrs.  K.  came  to  me  with  your  letter  ;  and,  as  she  has  a  trick 
of  doing  when  she  sees  the  handwriting  of  a  pleasant  corres 
pondent,  she  opened  it  and  read  it  to  me,  and  then  took  her 
departure,  laughing  at  some  of  your  jokes,  and — as  I  say — 
took  the  letter  with  her,  which,  she  says,  she  didn't,  and  to 
which  I  more  positively  answer,  I  am  sure  she  did  ;  and  she 
more  positively  replies  -she  is  sure  she  didn't, — and  tells  me 
to  search  my  pockets,  which  I  do  ;  and  then  she  tells  me  to 
turn  out  all  the  scraps  of  my  portfolio,  which  I  also  do,  and 
then  she  says,  "  look  in  your  trunk,"  to  which  I  reply,  "  non 
sense.  I  don't  put  any  thing  in  my  trunk  at  home,"  and  so 
after  going  over  this  dialogue  several  times,  and  searching  all 


coEKKsroxi)i-:x( :  K.  417 

suspected  places,  she  says  there  is  a  witch  in  the  matter  ;  and 
to  that  I  agree,  meaning  it  is  a-Canandaigua  witch  which  has 
whipt  off  that  letter,  and  I  wouldn 't  be  surprised  if  it  be  now 
"found  in  your-writing  desk  at  home.  The  result  of  it  all  is,  that 
I  can't  say  I  have  received  yours  of  the  —  —  inst,  although  I 
hereby  acknowledge  that  it  came  duly  to  the  hand  of  Mrs.  K. 
I  thank  you  for  it  as  cordially  as  if  I  had  it ;  and  to  show  my 
estimation  of  the  favor,  I  hereby  reply  to  its  contents  as  fully 
and  particularly  as  if  I  knew  every  word  and  syllable  it  con 
tained,  which  I  don't,  having  only  a  general  recollection  that 
it  said  many  pleasant  things  in  a  very  pleasant  way.  As  to 
that  recipe  for  asthma  of  which  you  have  some  tradition  import 
ing  that  it  was  given  to  Mr.  Gray,  and  which  you  want  for 
Mr.  A — ,  there  is  some  mistake  in  that  matter.  Mr.  Gray 
says  he  has  nothing  special  of  that  kind,  and  holds  asthma 
to  be  a  companion  for  better  or  for  worse,  to  whomsoever  it 
may  be  wedded,  as  a  thing  for  life,  in  no  wise  to  be  divorced, 
put  away  or  even  mollified.  I  do  remember  that  Colonel  Per 
kins  wanted,  some  years  ago,  to  cure  him  right  off  of  all  gout, 
by  a  French  medicine,  which  Mr.  Gray  wouldn't  consent  to, 
mainly  because  he  had  no  gout,  in  which  I  justified  his  pro 
ceeding  as  altogether  reasonable.  And  then  there  came  to 
him  once,  a  prescription,  in  a  severe  attack  of  asthma,  which 
he  took,  and  thought  it  did  some  good  for  a  dose  or  two, 
but  was  utterly  inadmissible  as  a  familiar  acquaintance, — 
being  a  rank  poison.  This  had  a  queer  name  which  I  forgot, 
something  like  hish  hash,  or  hash  bash.  I  know  it  was  a  hash 
of  some  kind ;  but  in  its  translation  from  the  Pagan  language 
which  had  the  hash  in  it,  it  was  rendered  Indian  hemp,  which 
all  the  doctors  know  is  as  fatal  as  American  or  Russian  hemp 
is  often  found  to  be  here  and  elsewhere,  when  administered 
by  a  sheriff  under  the  direction  of  a  doctor  of  laws.  Now, 
besides  this  hish  hash,  I  have  nothing  to  send  you  as  a  cure 
for  Mr.  A — ,  and  this  I  am  sure  Mrs.  A —  couldn't  think 
such  a  great  cure  after  all,  though,  perhaps,  there  are  wives, 
if  common  gossip  is  to  be  believed,  who  would  regard  it  as  a 
1 8*  .  • 


4:18  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

most    efficacious   remedy  for   many  complaints   against — not 
belonging  to — their  husbands. 

I  have  just  written  to  our  good  friend,  Mr.  Grieg,  sending 
him  by  the  same  mail,  my  lecture  on  Thorn,  which  you  helped' 
to  render  so  effective  in  the  Methodist  Church,  in  Baltimore, 
by  undertaking  to  lead  off  the  crying  in  the  pathetic  parts 
It  will  help  the  success  of  it  with  him  if  you  will  sit  by  him 
with  your  pocket  handkerchief  and  go  through  the  exercise 
of  wiping  your  eyes  now  and  then  as  you  look  over  his  shoul 
der.  You  got  that  likeness  I  sent  you.  Don't  you  think  the 
artist  had  two  prominent  ideas  in  view,  both  tending  to  signify 
that  the  portrait  was  official  in  its  character  and  belonged  to 
the  cabinet  ?  First,  in  the  general  official  austerity  and  evi 
dently  set-up  statesmanship  of  the  thing ;  and  second,  in  the 
ingenious  device  in  giving  me  exactly  the  same  proportions 
of  body,  tournure  and  exterior  aspect,  which  are  invariably 
given  in  all  the  portraits  of  Mr.  Fillmore  ?  Don't  you  see  that 
it  is  a  solemn  head  on  Fillmore's  shoulders?  plainly  signifying 
that  it  is  a  part  or  constituent  of  the  Fillmore  administration. 
That  struck  me  as  a  highly  artistical  conceit,  a  mixture  of 
history  and  allegory  which  ordinary  workmen  in  the  illustrious 
line  generally  overlook.  They  say  that  General  Cass  had  a 
conception  of  this  kind  of  excellence  when  he  got  the  plate 
of  a  distinguished  statesman  in  England,  and  had  the  head 
taken  off  it,  and  set  his  own  in  its  place,  so  as  to  produce 
a  Cass-Peel,  or  a  Cass-Palmerston  effect,  which  he  greatly 
admired.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  think  so  much  of 
this  affair  of  mine,  but  I  am  tired  of  being  idealized,  and 
realized  both,  and  horribly  caricatured  also,  in  three  several 
attempts  to  make  something  of  me; that  I  think  I  shall,  once 
for  all,  get  a  good,  respectable,  rather  well-looking  portrait, 
made  according  to  some  tasteful  fancy,  taking  care  to  have 
it  about  fifty,  well  dressed,  with  a  good  head  of  hair,  a  de 
cent  mouth  (which  I  have  not),  a  contemplative  eye,  and  a 
somewhat  engaging  figure,  and  henceforth,  give  out  that  as 
the  true  image  of  what  I  was  some  years  ago,  implying  that 


CORRESPONDENCE.  419 

it  comes  from  an  admirable  painting  by  Inman  or  somebody 
else,  taken  before   I   had   an   attack  of  typhoid  fever,  which 
greatly  impaired   my  appearance,  etc.,  etc.      For   as    to   the 
likeness,  who  cares  about  that  ?    especially  in  a  wood  cut  for 
Barnum's  News  or  even  a  steel  engraving  in   a  political  or 
literary  gallery  of  Jonathan,  purporting  to   be   distinguished 
men,  meaning  men  who  pay  speculating  Yankee  book-makers 
one   hundred  dollars   to  get  themselves  into  these  congrega 
tions  of  the  elect,  as  I  found,  to  my  surprise  and  horror,  on 
one  occasion  I  was  expected  to  do,  and  on  which  one  occasion, 
as   the  thing  was  too  far  advanced  to  recall  it,  I  did  give  the 
man    two   hundred    dollars  not  to  publish    the    likeness,  but 
break   up   his  plate,  which  money  he   took,   and   nevertheless 
did  publish  it,  saying  the  book  was  already  out,  and  could  not 
be — that  part  of  it — suppressed.      This  was  the   "  Whig  Re 
view,"  some  two  or  three  years  ago,  in  which  there  came  forth 
a   horrible,  great,  hard-favored,  wooden,  sullen,  Presbyterian- 
preacher-like   portrait  with  my  name   at   the  bottom  of  it.     I 
think  your  father  underwent  something  of  the  same  process. 
If  he  did  not,  he  was  lucky. 

Mrs.  Kennedy  and  I  have  talked  over  a  dozen  times  the 
project  of  a  circuit  this  fall  to  Boston,  where  we  had  some 
thought  of  going,  by  the  way  of  Canandaigua.  How  much 
we  should  relish  it,  and  what  delight  we  should  have  in  pleas 
ant  autumnal  weather  in  rambling  along  your  beautiful  lake 
with  its  rural  surroundings,  and  laughing  with  you  in  your 
pleasant  Canandaigua  coteries.  We  spent  a  week  at  Nether- 
wood  with  Mrs.  Rowland  and  her  family  and  the  Merediths, 
and  had  a  most  happy  time  there.  What  bird  of  the  riverside 
is  that  little  darling  Loo.  Brown,  and  what  a  chirping  set  we 
all  were  while  together  with  them  !  Meredith  dressed  like  -a 
boy  with  a  conceited  straw  hat,  low  in  the  crown,  with  broad, 
black  ribbon,  and  a  jaunty,  short  sack,  and  that  light  step, 
with  an  affectation  of  the  swagger  of  a  sailor  lad  just  come  home 
from  sea  !  Mrs.  M.,  in  a  sort  of  grand-motherly  fidget  all  the 
time,  as  if  she  thought  the  height  of  worldly  bliss  was  to  keep 


420  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

moving.  Three  happier  people  than  she,  her  husband  and 
Emma,  inhabiting  there,  I  believe,  could  not  be  found  in  the 
wide  world.  It  is  the  highest  realization  to  them  of  the 
highest  condition  of  life  to  be  in  such  comfortable  affinities 
of  position  and  relation  as  they  are  there  at  Nethervvood, 
with  that  gay  and  lovely  family  administering  to  them  ;  and, 
indeed,  I  don't  know  any  condition  of  life  better  adapted  to 
promote  such  content.  Meredith  was  delightful  in  so  many 
easy  cares  and  indolent  occupations,  with  such  a  world  of 
business  which  gave  him  so  little  trouble,  and  Mrs.  M.  never 
tired  in  her  thousand  assiduities  to  make  our  visit  pleasant 
Emma  vibrated  between  a  gale  and  a  zephyr  of  good  spirits 
all  the  time,  and  talked  very  confidently  of  your  coming  there 
at  an  early  day,  and  drew  all  manner  of  pictures  in  her  imagi 
nation  of  the  merry  entertainment  you  were  giving  just  at  that 
time,  to  W — ,  who,  I  told  her,  was  then  making  his  venturous 
visit  to  Canandaigua.  Of  Mrs.  Rowland  we  all  thought 
we  had  never  seen  a  woman  more  appropriate  to  the  place 
she  filled — a  very  perfection  of  a  kind,  considerate,  hospitable 
lady,  presiding  so  cheerfully  and  so  gracefully  over  such  an 
orderly  and  joyous  household.  We  spent  a  day  with  Mrs. 
Lewis  Livingston,  dined  there  and  returned  to  Netherwood. 
I  could  write  a  chapter  upon  her  and  her  house  to  tell  you 
what  attractions  both  had  for  us.  After  our  visit  to  Nether- 
wood,  we  went  to  New  York  and  spent  a  week  there,  taking 
a  day  out  of  it  to  go  up  to  Sunnyside  and  dine  with  Wash 
ington  Irving,  and  then  turned  homeward  about  a  week  too  soon 
for  the  hot  weather,  which,  as  I  said,  drove  me  to  Berkeley. 

I  have  seen  W — ,  since  my  return,  and  have  his  report. 
He  does  not  expatiate  merely,  but  flashes  his  eye  very  sig 
nificantly  in  speaking  of  his  journey,  and  telling  me  how 
pleasantly  he  passed  his  time  in  your  village.  Considering 
what -a  hot  summer  we  have  had,  I  think  we  have  got  along 
marvellously  well  in  it ;  and  Canandaigua  has  certainly  helped 
it  along  very  notably,  to  all  who  have  had  the  good  fortune  to 
travel  that  way. 


CORRKS  L'ONDKXCE.  421 

I  saw  Pent  the  other  day  in  Virginia.  He  is  daily  expecting 
the  Blackwater  Chronicle  by  the  Clerk  of  Ovenford,  which 
I  perceive  is  advertised  in  Putnam's  September  number  as 
nearly  ready.  He  says  he  will  send  me  a  copy. 

-I  must  end  this  long  scribbling,  which  I  fear  you  will  think 
had  no  need  to  run  into  a  second  sheet,  and  assure  you,  my 
dear  Miss  Granger,  how  kindly  I  remember  the  good  cheer 
and  pleasant  reception  I  found  at  your  home. 

Mrs.  K —  and  I,  with  the  rest  of  our  family,  unite  in  re 
membrance  and  regard  to  your  father  and  yourself. 

Very  truly  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  March  24, 1857. 
To  REV.  H.  H.  MILMAN,  Dean  of  Westminster. 

MY  DEAR  DEAN: — The  arrival  of  the  ducks  of  which 
your  letter  of  the  2Qth  of  December  informs  me  "in  admira 
ble  order,"  is  a  pleasant  demonstration  of  a  fact  which  I  hope 
will  be  turned  to  good  account  hereafter ;  that  our  countries 
are  not  so  wide  apart  as  to  deny  the  interchange  of  good  cheer. 
That  is  a  valuable  geographical  problem.  I  earnestly  pray 
that  an  invariable  interchange  of  the  kind  feelings  expressed 
in  your  letter,  may  ever  be  as  practicable  and  as  grateful  to 
both  sides  as  this  fortunate  flight  of  birds.  Just  now,  the 
omen  is  unquestionably  favorable.  I  have  good  hopes  of  our 
new  administration.  You  know  I  was  not  the  political  friend 
of  the  successful  candidate.  I  may,  therefore,  claim  to  be  im 
partial  in  what  I  say  to  him. 

Mr.  Buchanan  is  fortunate  in  the  antagonisms  of  his  elec 
tion,  and  actually  derives  strength  from  what  appeared  to  be 
his  weakness.  He  was  elected  by  a  minority  of  half  a  mil 
lion  in  the  estimate  of  the  whole  vote,  and  came  in  on  a  plu 
rality.  Either  Mr.  Fillmore  or  Fremont  would  have  beaten  him 
in  a  single  fight.  The  ultras  of  the  South,  although  they  voted 
for  him,  have  no  love  for  him,  n.or  confidence  in  his  adminis 
tration.  They  took  him  as  *pis  alter,  and  he  knows  it.  The 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

ultras  of  the   North   are  still  more  fiercely  opposed   to  him. 
Taking  off  what  ostensible  support  he  got  from  both  of  these 
parties,  and  his  actual  minority  at  the   polls  is  still  more  re 
duced  among  the  people.     Between  these  extremes  stand  the 
great  mass  of  solid,  national  men,  who  mean   to  sustain  the 
Union  in  all   contingencies,  and   against  all  factions.     This 
body  is  far  the  strongest  in  the  country,  from  its  intelligence 
and  patriotism,  and  its  entire  independence  of  official  patron 
age.    Its  largest  component  is  the  old  Whig  party,  once  repre 
sented  by  Webster  in  the  North,  and  Clay  in  the  South.    The 
best  elements   of  the  Democratic  party,— now   disorganized 
and  defeated, — are  gradually  becoming  absorbed  in  it,  and  it 
is  therefore  very  visibly  forming  a  new,  compact,  and  prepon 
derating  power  of  conservative  temper  and  liberal  views,  which 
will  overmaster  both  extremes.     Mr.   Buchanan  is  obliged  to 
conduct  his  administration  in  harmony  with   the  aims  of  this 
party.     He  has  no  other  support,  and  this  is  all  sufficient  for 
him.     I  have  it  from  himself  that  he  desires  and  intends  to 
make  his  administration,  national,  peaceful  and  conservative. 
His  Cabinet,  as  far  as  the  material  at  his  choice  allowed  it,  is 
constructed  with  reference  to  this  purpose.     Mr.  Cass,  not 
withstanding  his  reputation  for  belligerency,  I  understand  is 
entirely  pacific,  and  that  is  the  temper  of  the  rest.     Lord  Na 
pier's  reception,  not  only  in  the  country,  but  at  Washington,  is 
most  cordial;  and  we  are  all  congratulating  ourselves  upon  the 
end  of  strife.     Kansas, — which  never  could  be  any  thing  else, 
—is  now  unmistakably  arranging  itself  to  be  a  free  State.  The 
Missouri  Compromise,  of  which  you  have  heard  so  much,  is 
neither  practically  nor  theoretically  any  longer  a  thing  either  for 
good  or  evil.   All  the  territory  which  it  was  designed  to  establish 
as  free,  is  already  irrevocably  destined  to  freedom  ;  so  that  there 
is  no  practical  end  which  it  professes  to  secure,  that  is  not  now 
secured.     Oddly  enough,  the  Supreme  Court,  just  at  tlrs  mo 
ment,  when  the  Compromise  had  become  spent,  has  declared 
it  unconstitutional  from  the  beginning,  so  that  it  is  also  theo 
retically  dead.     It  lived  long  enough  to  serve  all  the  purposes 


423 


of  the  North,  and  has  been  pronounced  a  dead-letter  only  at 
the  moment  when  it  became  a  dead  thing. 

The  Northern  politicians  who  found  profit  in  debating  the 
enormity  of  its  repeal  by  the  Act  of  1854,  and  used  that  repeal 
as  a  stalking  horse  to  ride  into  office,  are  exceedingly  indig 
nant  at  the  decision  of  the  court,  only  because  it  dismounts 
them  from  their  hobby.  I  am  myself  surprised  at  the  decis 
ion,  as  I  thought  the  constitutionality  of  the  Compromise 
above  all  question  ;  but  I  cannot  but  rejoice  in  the  definitive 
settlement  by  so  eminent  a  tribunal,  of  a  question  which  has 
been  so  mischievously  used  by  agitators  and  demagogues.  We 
shall  have  some  abortive  efforts  to  get  up  a  storm  on  the  decis 
ion,  and  may  have  a  year  or  two  of  turmoil  in  the  discontented 
quarters,  but  no  harm  will  ensue. 

When  I  came  home,  it  was  not  without  hope  that  Mr.  Fill- 
more  would  succeed  to  the  Presidency.  My  view  was  that  an 
election  by  the  people  could  scarcely  be  expected.  I  knew 
that  Mr.  Buchanan  would  carry  the  Southern  Democratic  States, 
that  Fremont  would  take  the  greater  number  of  free  States,  and 
Mr.  Fillmore,  I  supposed,  would  get  the  Whig  States  South,  and 
some  of  those  in  the  North.  In  the  event  it  turned  out  that  he 
was  sacrificed  by  his  friends  in  both.  The  Whigs  of  the  South 
were  told  that  every  vote  which  jeoparded  Buchanan  would 
strengthen  Fremont.  In  the  North  they  were  told  the  converse 
of  this,  —  that  every  vote  to  the  prejudice  of  Fremont  would  as 
sist  Buchanan  ;  and  so  between  these  opposite  appeals,  the 
thousands  who  preferred  Fill'more  to  either,  were  driven  into 
the  anomalous  category  of  voting  against  him.  My  own  State 
here  —  Maryland  —  stood  firm  and  gave  him  the  largest  majori 
ty  it  ever  gave  to  a  Presidential  candidate.  The  result  of  the 
whole  canvass  was  a  very  singular  one.  Mr.  Fillmore  had 
undoubtedly,  and  has  now,  more  solid  popularity  than  either  of 
his  opponents,  and  yet  took  but  a  single  State.  If  Kentucky 
and  Tennessee  —  two  of  our  stanchest  Whig  States—  had  stood 
their  ground  as  Maryland  did,  to  say  nothing  of  other  Whig 
States  equally  relied  on,  the  election  would  have  gone  to  the 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

House  of  Representatives,  where  it  would,  after  some  three  or 
four  days'  balloting,  have  been  decided  in  Mr.  Fillmore's  favor, 
and  the  country,  with  the  exception  of  some  exasperated  sections, 
would  have  been  eminently  satisfied.  Such  is  the  fate  of  our 
popular  movements.  Mr.  Fillmore,  in  truth,  elected  Buchanan, 
and  we  find  SOIIIQ  motive  of  consolation  in  that  fact  through 
its  influence  in  shaping  the  course  of  his  administration. 

My  dear  Dean,  you  must  set  down  this  long  dissertation 
upon  a  subject  which,  I  fear,  has  no  great  claims  upon  your  pa 
tience,  to  the  suggestion  of  your  letter  of  some  little  interest 
in  the  contest  which  brought  me  away  from  pleasant  England 
only  to  take  my  share  in  a  disaster  which  many  of  us  here  la 
ment  as  a  national  misfortune.  I  wish  to  persuade  you  that  I 
bear  it  well,  and  am  hopeful  of  the  future. 

To  turn  to  another  subject  referred  to  in  your  letter, — my 
promise  to  send  you  something  by  which  you  may  judge  of  the 
license  of  our  elections.  I  wrote,  in  1840,  during  a  most  ex 
traordinary  canvass,  which  brought  General  Harrison  to  the 
Presidency,  a  playful  satire  upon  the  political  events  of  that 
time.  It  is  a  history  of  the  growth  of  the  Democratic  party,  and 
their  terrible  defeat  on  that  occasion.  The  volume  is  called 
"  The  Annals  of  Quodlibet."  I  have  a  copy  put  up  for  you, 
which  I  shall  send  either  by  a  private  hand,  or,  perhaps, 
through  the  dispatch  mail  of  the  State  Department  to  Mr. 
Dallas,  to  be  delivered  to  you.  You  may  expect  it  very  soon 
after  you  receive  this.  I  beg  to  say  to  you  that  it  was  warmly 
commended  by  my  old  friend  Mr.  John  Quincy  Adams,  for  the 
accuracy  of  its  political  pictures,  and  that  he  often  advised  me 
to  continue  the  Annals.  On  its  literary  merit  I  must  bespeak 
your  indulgence  as  for  a  trifle  almost  too  light  to  be  criticised. 
If  it  afford  you  a  laugh  or  two,  that  is  as  much  as  it  is  worth. 

As  I  am  sure  you  will  require  some  little  preliminary  in 
doctrination  in  the  political  questions  to  which  it  refers,  I 
thought  I  could  not  aid  you  better  in  that  than  by  sending  with 
it  a  speech  I  made  in  the  House  of  Representatives  a  short 
time  before  this  publication,  on  most  of  the  topics  embraced  in 


CORRESPONDENCE.  425 

it.  So  that  I  lay  before  you  the  graver  and  the  lighter  history 
to  assist  in  teaching,- what  I  fear,  after  all,  may  be  hardly  worth 
the  pains  of  learning. 

Mrs.  Kennedy  and  Miss  Gray  send  kindest  remembrances 
to  Mrs.  Milman  and  your  family,  and  with  equal  regard,  I  am, 
my  dear  Dean, 

Very  truly  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  MARYLAND,  March  28, 1857. 
To  THE  RT.  REV.  LORD  BISHOP  OF  OXFORD. 

MY  DEAR  LORD  BISHOP  : — After  a  delay  much  longer  than 
I  had  looked  for,  I  have  been  enabled  to  collect  a  few  docu 
ments,  which,  I  hope,  will  be  found  to  be  an  acceptable  addi 
tion  to  the  testimony  which  you  have  already  procured  through 
the  Committee  of  the  House  of  Lords,  on  the  subject  of  public 
and  private  executions. 

I  find  upon  examination  here,  a  full  confirmation  of  the 
statements  I  made  before  the  committee  ;  although  when  I  was 
in  London  I  was  necessarily  obliged  to  speak  upon  mere  gen 
eral  impressions  and  without  opportunity  to  assure  myself  .of 
that  accuracy  which  would  give  weight  to  what  I  said.  The 
reporter  made  sad  work  with  two  or  three  points  in  my  exam 
ination,  which,  I  am  sure,  you  must  have  perceived,  and  which 
I  must  pray  you  to  overlook,  as  his  blunders  and  not  mine. 
But  as  these  did  not  refer  to  the  material  facts  you  were  in  pur 
suit  of,  they  are  no  further  worth  notice  than  as  one  of  the  an 
noyances  which  every  man  who  is  "  taken  down"  must  occasion 
ally  encounter,  and  to  which,  men  much  before  the  public  must, 
for  their  own  comfort,  gradually  grow  callous.  You  will  find  ex 
amples  of  this  reporting  in  the  answers  set  down  for  me  to  the 
questions  numbered  443,  444,  450,  456  and  460, — in  regard  to 
which,  without  troubling  you  even  with  an  explanation  of  their 
errors,  I  must  throw  myself  on  your  kindness  and  ask  you  to 
consider  them  as  careless  representations  of  what  I  said.  I  do 
not  know  that  any  State  in  our  Union  has  actually  abolished 


426  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

Capital  punishment, — but  from  the  favor  shown  to  the  propo 
sal  to  do  so  in  one  or  two  States,  I  thought  it  quite  probable 
that  the  experiment  had  been  made.  This  is  the  only  asser 
tion  in  the  report  of  my  evidence  I  desire  to  correct, — the  oth 
er  points  are  of  less  concern. 

I  have  been  engaged  during  the  winter,  in  an  effort  to  pro 
cure  for  you  some  of  the  best  opinions  within  my  reach,  upon 
the  value  of  the  later  practice  in  this  country  of  private  execu 
tion  ;  and,  with  that  view,  I  have  had  a  correspondence  with 
the  governors  of  New  York  and  Pennsylvania.  These  States 
are  both  distinguished  for  the  excellence  of  their  penal  system 
and  for  their  careful  attention  to  its  operation  and  the  oppor-- 
tunity  of  improving  it.  Their  experience,  therefore,  is  entitled 
to  the  highest  consideration.  They  led  the  way  in  this  change, 
or,  at  least,  were  among  the  first  of  the  States  to  adopt  it ; 
and  their  example  has  been  followed  so  far,  that,  at  this  time 
the  spectacle  of  a  public  execution  is  no  longer  to  be  seen  in 
one  half — perhaps  more — of  the  States  of  the  Union.  Gov 
ernor  King,  of  New  York,  and  Governor  Pollock,  of  Pennsylva 
nia,  have  both  kindly  supplied  me  with  the  reports  submitted 
to  their  respective  Legislatures  when  the  new  system  was  in 
contemplation  ;  and  at  my  request,  have  expressed  in  their 
letters  to  me,  their  opinions  of  the  effects  of  the  change.  These 
documents  you  will  find  with  this  letter.  The  reports,  in  both 
cases,  are  drawn  up  with  a  careful  study  of  the  subject,  and 
embody  much  information  which  I  hope  will  be  found  useful 
to  your  purpose  ;  and  the  letters  give  an  unqualified  approval 
to  the  practical  operation  of  the  existing  laws.  Since  my  return 
to  America,  I  have  conversed  with  many  intelligent  friends,  in 
different  States,  on  the  subject,  and  have  not  found  a  dissent 
ing  opinion  from  that  expressed  in  the  two  letters  I  have  placed 
in  your  hands.  It  is  only  last  year,  1856,  when  Virginia  adopt 
ed  the  system,  and  as  she  is  somewhat  noted  for  moving 
slowly  on  the  road  of  innovation,  you  may  take  that  as  a  sign 
of  the  strength  of  the  current  that  glides  towards  the  general 
reform.  Here,  in  Maryland,  the  custom  of  private  execution 


COERESPONDENCE.  427 

has,  it  seems,  as  I  conjectured,  been  practised  without  Legis 
lative  direction.  The  sheriffs,  assuming  a  discretion  over  the 
subject,  have  chosen  to  conduct  their  executions  in  conformity 
with  the  opinion  that  prevails  in  favor  of  privacy,  and  have 
therefore,  for 'several  years  past,  confined  them  to  the  yard  of 
the  jail.  They  are  so  well  sustained  by  the  popular  judgment 
of  this  community  that  no  question  has  been  raised  to  disturb 
their  proceeding.  I  do  not  doubt  that  our  Legislature,  when 
ever  the  subject  is  brought  to  its  notice,  will  sanction  it  by 
express  enactment. 

With  the  packet  I  send  you,  I  enclose  an  abstract  or  sy 
nopsis  of  the  laws  of  Pennsylvania  and  New  York  directing 
these  executions.  These  will  show  you  the  form  of  proceeding 
and  the  nature  of  the  return  The  laws  of  several  other  States, 
which  I  have  examined,  are  of  the  same  chacacter,  and  very 
similar  in  their  provisions.  You  will  also  find  an  account  of 
an  execution  which  took  place  recently  in  the  interior  of  Mis 
sissippi  on  a  scrap  I  have  cut  from  a  newspaper.  The  narra 
tive  will  show  you  a  remarkable  case  of  a  culprit  actually 
electioneering  by  a  stump  speech,  delivered  from  the  gallows, 
addressed  to  the  multitude  in  the  way  of  an  appeal  to  stay 
execution. 

This  is  a  new  phase  of  the  egotism  and  self-glorification  of 
which,  I  think,  all  public  executions,  in  greater  or  less  degree 
furnish  an  exhibition,  and  suggest  an  additional  argument 
against  the  practice. 

As  I  perceive  Governor  Pollock's  secretary  enumerates 
Mississippi  as  one  of  the  States  which  have  adopted  the  change, 
this  case, — if  he  be  not  in  error, — must  have  occurred  in  some 
county  where  the  jail  and  its  appurtenances — (no  unusual 
thing  in  the  South)  were  too  small  to  allow  the  execution  in  pri 
vate. 

I  have  now  given  you,  my  dear  Lord  Bishop,  all  that  I  have 
been  able  to  supply  towards  you  purpose  in  the  investigation  ; 
hoping  that  you  will  find  in  these  papers  a  corroboration  of  your 
own  views  upon  the  subject,  and  be  able  to  turn  them  to  useful 


428  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

account;  and  I  heartily  join  you  in  the  wish  that  Parliament 
may  speedily  put  an  end  to  a  practice  which,  I  am  persuaded, 
has  the  most  unhappy  effect  upon  the  character  of  great  num 
bers  of  the  population  of  the  country,  and  especially  upon  the 
young.  Both  for  the  salutary  terror  of  the  law,  and  the  pres 
ervation  of  the  minds  of  the  people  from  the  defilements  of 
coarse  stimulants,  I  cannot  doubt  the  good  policy  of  removing 
these  exhibitions  from  public  view. 

With  the  highest  respect  and  regard, 
I  am,  my  dear  Lord  Bishop, 
Very  truly  yours, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

PATAPSCO,  our  Summer  home,  ) 

ELLICOTT'S  MILLS,  Md.,  our  P.  0., 

Thursday,  Sept.  27,  1859. ) 

To  MRS.  HENRY  DUNCAN. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  DUNCAN  : — Your  welcome  letter  of  the 
1 7th,  from  Newport,  laden  with  the  kmd  regard  of  a  friend 
ship  which  I  hold  to  be  one  of  the  best  fruits  of  two  voyages 
across  the  Atlantic,  came  into  my  library  through  the  window, 
a  few  mornings  ago,  like  a  bird.  It  seemed  to  have  chosen  the 
first  sunshine  after  that  long  and  dreary  equinoctial  gale,  and 
so  to  have  timed  its  visit  as  most  appropriate  to  the  pleasant 
tidings  it  was  commissioned  to  bring  us.  It  is  only  a  few 
weeks  since  I  returned  from  the  White  Sulphur  and  other 
Springs  of  Central  Virginia  with  Mrs.  K.  and  her  sister,  and, 
still  later  since  I  got  home  from  a  supplemental  visit  to  Berke 
ley,  whither  I  had  gone  to  spend  a  short  period  with  some  of 
my  own  relatives.  I  can  hardly  yet  say  that  I  have  got  com 
pletely  back  to  the  habitual  life  of  home,  which  is  to  me  al 
ways  an  agreeable  alternative  of  work  and  amusement,  adjusted 
to  the  most  healthful  equilibrium  both  of  body  and  mind. 
You  have  left  Newport  by  this  time  and  are  to  be  in  New 
York  until  the  tenth  of  October.  After  that  you  go  south. 
Now  this  arrangement  admits  a  visit,  en  passant,  here.  We 
have  all  agreed  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  you  to  do  a 


CORK  KSPONI  )ENCE.  429 

greater  amount  of  good,  or  procure  yourself  a  more  happy  con 
science,  than  by  this  exercise  of  your  charity.  So,  we  plan  it 
for  you,  entreat  it,  and,  in  fact,  peremptorily  determine  it  that 
in  your  flight  towards  the  tropic,  you  and  Mr.  Duncan  are  to 
give  us  as  much  time  as  you  can  cut  off  from  other  people,  and 
to  come  directly  to  us.  You  will  find  us  pleasantly  entrenched 
in  our  cottage  close  down  on  the  banks  of  the  Patapsco,  in 
one  of  the  most  romantic  and  beautiful  nooks  in  the  world. 
You  shall  have  all  manner  of  rural  felicities,  among  which  I 
enumerate  the  war  of  waters  and  spindles,  rich  cream,  ham 
and  chicken,  much  talk,  plenty  of  books,  pen  and  ink,  back 
gammon,  etc.  The  railroad  is  only  distant  by  the  span  of  our 
bridge  ;  our  country  store  is  within  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards, 
where  you  will  find  a  most  choice  assortment  of  fashionable 
tinware,  nests  of  buckets  and  all  kinds  of  calicoes,  straw  bon 
nets,  coffee  and  cheese.  The  turnpike  road  gives  a  delightful 
publicity  to  this  magazine  of  fashion,  and  affords  an  opportu 
nity  twice  a  day  to  observe  that  striking  wonder  of  civilization, 
the  omnibus,  surcharged,  inside  and  out,  with  the  elite  of  our 
village.  My  library,  which  I  shall  put  entirely  at  your  dispo 
sal,  is  full  of  miracles  of  art  in  a  choice  collection  of  photo 
graphs,  stereoscopes,  portraits  and  inkstands.  It  has  two  win 
dows,  each  opening  on  a  balcony,  one  of  which  looks  towards 
the  mill-dam  through  pendant  willows,  glorious  to  behold, — 
the  other,  at  the  bridge,  which  is  the  most  romantic  and  pic 
turesque  of  pontificals.  Our  cottage — you  must  come  and  see 
it  for  yourself.  I  wont  attempt  to  describe  its  extraordinary 
labyrinths  and  perplexities,  which  the  oldest  of  our"  visitors 
have  never  been  able  to  unravel.  There  are  things  in  this  world 
which  one  must  see, — they  cannot  be  taken  upon  trust.  Now, 
if  you  are  the  true  woman  which  I  know  you  to  be,  these  hints 
will  whet  your  curiosity  to  that  point,  at  which  indifference  is 
not  to  be  expected  of  human  nature,  and  sedate  resistance 
ceases  to  be  a  virtue.  So,  my  dear  Mrs.  Duncan,  give  way 
to  your  impulses  and  come.  Tell  Duncan  I  can't  shoot, 
but  I  can  tell  him  where  the  partridges  are,  and  can  lend  him 


430  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

a  revolver  or  a  rifle,  and  a  capital  young  terrier  famous  for 
barking  and  snapping  at  the  heels.  If  he  is  not  up  to  the  per 
fection  of  field  sports  on  this  scale,  perhaps  a  game  of  whist 
may  be  found  a  sufficient  substitute. 

We  remain  in  the  country  this  year  longer  than  usual  as 
we  wait  for  the  finishing  of  a  house  in  town,  which  is  now 
building  for  us,  to  be  ready  by  the  first  of  November.  After 
you  have  made  us  this  visit  we  shall  go  to  New  York,  under 
the  pretence  of  buying  some  furniture,  and  there  while  away 
the  time  until  the  house  seems  habitable. 

In  pursuance  of  the  suggestions  of  that  nomad  character 
which  the  ladies  have  insensibly  contracted  in  the  last  three 
years,  we  propose  in  February  to  go  to  Cuba,  to  return  by 
New  Orleans,  and  to  make  a  voyage  up  the  river  to  St.  Louis. 
After  that  the  world  will  be  before  us  and  Providence  our 
guide,  most  probably  once  more  upon  the  waters  to  merry 
England  and  the  mountains  of  the  Tyrol,  all  which  projects 
will  form  a  theme  for  our  discourse  with  you  when  you  come, 
as,  of  course,  you  will  do. 

Touching  that  letter  of  mine  from  the  Isle  of  "Wight  last 
year,  and  that  pleasanter  one  from  you,  to  which  you  allude, 
the  two  stood  in  this  strange  category,  in  that  each  was  an 
answer  to  the  other.  I  wrote  mine  to  you  a  few  days  before 
yours  came  to  hand  ;  but  yours  being  older  in  date — for  it  had 
been  delayed  a  month  in  Liverpool — left  me  nothing  to  add 
except  the  acknowledgment  of  its  receipt,  which  I  charged 
Winthrop  in  a  later  letter  to  him,  to  communicate  to  you.  I 
suppose  you  had  left  Nahant  before  he  could  do  so,  and  as  we 
returned  home  soon  after  that,  I  was  obliged  to  dismiss  all 
pleasanter  correspondence  for  the  matter  of  business  which 
has  grown  up  in  the  long  period  of  my  absence.  Ever  since 
my  return  I  have  been  busy  as  far  as  my  health  and  occasional 
journeying  would  allow,  in  the  endeavor  to  complete  some 
literary  tasks  which  have  dragged  slowly  along  amidst  many 
interruptions.  I  still  have  the  project  before  me,  as  my  em 
ployment  during  the  approaching  winter,  to  write  some  sketch- 


CORRESPONDENT  K. 

es  of  European  life — not  exactly  in  the  shape  of  travels,  but 
more  in  the  nature  of  dissertations  upon  men  and  countries 
abroad.  Perhaps  I  may  succeed  in  getting  these  into  a  read 
able  volume  which  I  may  commend  to  your  friendly  notice. 

Those Springs !      You    ask  me  how  I  like    them. 

Well,  I  will  tell  you  in  confidence,  Not  at  all.  The  discomfort 
of  getting  there, — the  worse  discomfort  when  we  accomplish 
this, — the  scant  and  mean  provisions,  the  extortion,  the  untidi 
ness,  the  swell  and  swagger,  the  eternal,  pervading,  persistent, 
exclusive  talk  about  negrodom  and  its  nonsense  ;  the  flash 
dressing  of  the  women  :  the  "  grand,  gloomy  and  peculiar" 
of  the  "  big  men  ;"  th'e  everlasting  intervention  and  non-inter 
vention — little  giants  and  gigantic  dwarfs,  slave-trade,  Cuba 
and  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle,  etc.,  etc.,  so  wearied,  si 
lenced  and  disgusted  me,  that  I  never  wish  to  go  again  into 
a  concourse  of  men  or  women  either, — for  the  women,  in  the 
few  intervals  of  release  from  the  labors  of  the  toilet,  were  too 
often  sounding  these  discords,  "  like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out 
of  tune  and  harsh," — where  such  topics  form  the  theme  of 
common  conversation.  Have  we  no  Brutus  to  give  us  back 
our  freedom  ?  Is  social  life  in  our  country  to  be  always  the 
theatre  of  angry  passion  and  melancholy  raving?  Are  the 
amenities,  the  charities,  the  pleasant  fight-hear tedness  and 
cheerful,  innocent  frivolities  of  good  society  never  to  reign 
again  over  our  good  people  and  among  our  pleasant  scenes 
of  nature  where  all  might  find  so  much  enjoyment  ?  But  I 
am  sick  of  what  goes  by  the  name  of  politics,  as  I  am  sure  you 
are,  and  will  not  allow  myself  to  grow  grave  in  thinking  of 
them.  I  prefer  other  studies,  and  more  genial  friends,  and, 
for  a  while  at  least,  to  look  at  other  lands. 

The  ladies  of  my  household  are  remarkably  well  in  health, 
—healthy  I  may  say  both  in  body  and  spirit ;  doing  all  the  good 
that  falls  in  their  way,  and  sometimes  even  going  out  of  it  on 
errands  of  benefaction  ;  and  as  I  am  a  believer  in  the  treas 
ury  of  good  works,  I  take  heart  in  the  thought  that,  being  of 
the  fellowship,  I  may  come  in  for  a  small  share  of  the  reward 


432  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

hereafter,  as  I  certainly  do  for  much  of  the  content  of  the 
present. 

My  fever  in  Rome,  like  some  other  of  the  works  of  the 
Eternal  City,  has  shown  its  consequences  in  new  forms  of 
malady  here.  Last  winter,  for  the  first  time,  I  was  assailed  by 
a  series  of  pretty  sharp  attacks  of  rheumatism,  which  have  dis 
abled  me  for  active  exercise.  My  journey  to  the  Springs  is 
followed  by  an  improvement,  which  I  hope  will  finally  over 
come  the  Roman  taint.  I  have  grown  robust,  though  not  as 
strong  as  I  was,  and  have  indulged  the  caprice  of  cultivating 
a  beard,  wh;ch,  I  fear,  will  come  under  your  censure  for  its 
ferocity.  It  is  not  patriarchal,  nor  of  the  chivalric  cast, — 
but  rather  leonine,  or,  perhaps  I  might  say  more  correctly, 
of  the  grizzly  bear  quality,  which  quite  endangers  my  iden 
tity.  You  will  laugh  when  you  see  it,  as  many  old  friends 
do,  and  perhaps  extenuate  its  faults  when  I  tell  you  how 
much  it  adds  to  my  comfort.  I  can  trust  you  that  you  will 
set  down  naught  in  malice.  This  matter  of  face  involves  a 
philosophy  in  which  the  world  has  a  clear  right  to  its  opin 
ion  ;  as  faces  are  manifestly  to  be  ordered  for  others  as  much 
as  for  ourselves. 

I  have  written  you  a  long  letter,  to  repair  my  omission 
of  last  year,  and  to  show  you  how  honestly  I  appreciate 
your  remembrances  of  me.  Give  me  a  line  in  return,  to  say 
that  you  will  be  with  us  on  or  about  the  nth  of  October, 
and  I  will  then  arrange  for  you  the  mode  of  reaching  us 
from  Baltimore.  The  ladies  join  me  in  kind  regards  to  your 
self  and  Mr.  Duncan. 

Very  truly,  your  friend, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  Jan.  12, 1860. 
To  G.  S.  BRYAN,  ESQ.  : 

How  I  should  refresh  my  soul,  Bryan,  in  a  talk  of  six 
consecutive  winter  nights  with  you  here  in  my  library,  which, 
both  mechanically  and  spiritually  is  one  of  the  most  comfort- 


CORRESPONDENCE.  433 

able,  snug  and  suggestive  apartments  enclosed  within  four  walls, 
in  any  part  of  this  distracted  and  threatened  Union.  If  you 
were  but  here,  that  we  might  make  each  other  hopeful  that  the 
madness  of  the  country  had  passed  the  flood-tide,  and  was 
beginning  the  ebb  towards  sanity  and  sober  estimate  of  duty. 
Your  mention  of  the  excellent  persons  you  have  seen,  who 
spoke  kindly  of  us  after  the  summer  was  gone,  revives  some 
cherished  memories  of  Charleston  and  its  connections.  Even 
the  White  Sulphur,  with  its  inconceivable  deficiencies  as  a 
place  of  such  universal  fame,  becomes  a  pleasant  retrospect 
in  its  association  with  the  Izards,  the  Pringles,  good  Mrs. 
Grayson,  and  that  most  intelligent  of  women,  Mrs.  Holbrook, 
whom  you  do  not  name,  and  Miss  Rutledge,  her  niece. 
South  Carolina  is  always  paramount  .in  the  congregation  of 
the  elect,  and  most  to  be  admired  in  the  true  nobleness  of 
its  aristocracy.  The  gentleness  and  refinement  of  high  breed 
ing,  attract  such  instant  regard,  when  brought  into  contrast 
with  the  vulgar  ostentation  which  seeks  to  supplant  it,  and 
which  is  everywhere  so  obtrusive  and  ambitious  an  element 
of  what  claims  to  be  our  upper  society,  that  I  more  than 
ever  regret  the  sectional  spirit  which  keeps  the  real  gentry 
of  our  country,  North  and  South,  so  distinctly  apart,  and 
prevents  such  missionaries  as  your  old  families  can  supply, 
from  uniting  with  their  kindred  classes  "  across  the  line,"  to 
inspire-  a  national  esteem  for  the  elegancies  of  character,  love 
of  what  is  good,  scorn  for  what  is  base,  purity  of  taste,  and 
contempt  of  all  make-believe.  Let  such  teachers  take  the 
field  in  cordial  co-operation,  and  I  am  convinced  they  will 
clo  more  to  nationalize  the  country,  and  vanquish  the  vulgar 
ism  which  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  crop  of  false  phi 
losophies,  efforts  at  notoriety  and  mischievous  popularities, 
than  any  other  power  in  our  social  organization. 

You  were  up  at  Columbia,  and  only  heard  of  my   delight 
ful  and  beautiful  friend  Mrs.  -    — .       I   wish  you  had  seen 
her.       She  would    have    left  a   memory  upon  your  eye    and 
heart   that  would  have  driven   your    appreciative  fancy    into 
19 


434:  LIFE    OF    JOTIN    P.  KENNEDY. 

stark  poetry ;  a  genuine  beauty,  with  a  keen  wit,  and  a  most 
lofty  sense  of  the  nobleness  of  her  sex.  I  owe  her  a  letter, 
which  I  mean  to  acquit  myself  of  as  soon  as  I  get  through  this, 
when  I  shall  tell  her  what  she  missed  in  getting  away  before 
your  visit.  That  gold-headed  cane  came  somewhat  mysterious 
ly  by  express  in  advance  of  your  letter ;  and  but  for  the  famil 
iar  handwriting  of  the  address,  would  have  seriously  disturb 
ed  the  sleep  of  the  ladies  of  my  household,  among  whom 
was  Mrs.  Stanard,  of  Richmond,  I  believe  an  acquaintance  of 
yours,  or,  at  least  ought  to  be,  speaking  in  reference  to  your 
proclivity  towards  fine  women.  The  neatness  of  the  box,  and 
the  deliberation  with  which  I  opened  it,  added  to  the  eager 
ness  of  their  suspense.  I  thought  it  a  Malacca,  not  dreaming 
that  the  Palmetto  could  turn  out  such  a  staff.  A  thousand 
thanks,  my  dear  Bryan,  for  this  welcome  remembrance." 


VISIT   TO   CUBA.  435 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Visit  to  Cuba  ma.  New  Orleans. 

TTT  was  the  intention  of  Mr.  Kennedy  to  embark  for  Europe  in, 
-  the  autumn  of  1865,  but  business  engagements  and  ill-health 
led  to  a  postponement  of  the  design  ;  and  he  finally  decided  to 
substitute  for  this  trip,  a  visit  to  Cuba,  by  the  way  of  New  Or 
leans.  By  invitation  of  the  President  of  the  Baltimore  and 
Ohio  railroad,  in  which  enterprise  he  had  proved  an  efficient 
coadjutor,  he,  with  his  wife  and  her  sister,  accepted  a  free 
ticket  to  Bellair ;  being  furnished  with  notes  of  introduction, 
to  the  officers  along  the  line  and  attached  to  connecting 
roads,  their  wants  were  anticipated,  their  comfort  promoted, 
and  they  were  furnished  with  good  rooms  where  they  stopped. 
After  seeing  their  relations  at  Martinsburg,  they  proceeded  to 
Cincinnati  and  St.  Louis.  Mr.  Kennedy  describes  their  voy 
age  down  the  Mississippi,  the  scenery,  fellow-passengers,  and 
especially  the  difficult  navigation  and  a  collision  on  the  river, 
with  its  consequences  ;  he  draws  graphic  portraits  of  a  "  gentle 
man  in  liquor,"  and  a  "  nigger-hater ;"  describes  the  effects  of 
the  siege  on  the  aspect  of  Vicksburg,  and  dilates  on  the  prev 
alent  state  of  political  feeling  in  the  Southwest.  At  New 
Orleans  he  encountered  several  old  friends  and  was  most  hos 
pitably  entertained. 

"  On  the  Mississippi,  in  the  Ida  Handy,  Dec.  12, 1865,"  he 
writes  : — "  In  a  casual  conversation  with  our  fellow-passenger 
to-day,  I  was  given  another  insight  into  this  feeling  of  hatred  for 
the  negro,  who  is  set  free  by  the  war.  This  man  was  going,  he 
told  me,  to  Arkansas.  He  had  been  a  captain  in  the  Rebel 
army,  and  had  lost  nearly  all  his  men"  (he  told  me  this  with 


436  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

evident  aim  to  impress  me  with  the  desperate  and  daring  char 
acter  of  his  command  :  I  think  he  said  he  had  but  ten  left  out 
of  forty-three) ;  "  that  after  the  war  he  thought  he  would  settle 
in  Iowa,  and  tried  it,  but  he  could  not  stand  being  pointed  at 
and  called  '  a  damned  rebel ;'  it  stood  to  reason,  no  brave 
man  could  endure  it  ;"  so  he  determined  to  go  to  Arkansas. 
"  There,"  said  he,  "  we  can  fix  the  niggers.  I  tell  you  how  it  is 
done  :  '  Hire  'em  by  the  year,  you  to  find  them,  and  charge 
them  with  every  thing,  and  deduct  the  amount  of  their  wages 
at  the  end  of  the  year.  This  brings  them  in  debt  to  you,  and 
then,  you  know,  they  can't  leave  you  ;  got  to  stay — no  steam 
boat  will  take  'em,  and  nobody  can  give  them  any  thing  to 
go  off  with.  We'll  have  an  understanding  in  the  neighbor 
hood,  so  that  they  can't  get  away,  so  long  as  they  are  in  debt.' 
Don't  you  see,"  said  he  to  me,  as  if  he  thought  I  would  be  de 
lighted  to  hear  such  an  excellent  device,  "how  that  will  fix  the 
nigger,  and  make  them  better  for  us  than  they  were  before  ?" 
I  suggested  as  a  necessary  addition  to  this  ingenious  plan  of 
"  fixing"  them,  that,  if  the  State  would  help  it  along  by  pass 
ing  a  law  that  no  negro  should  have  a  right  to  bring  a  suit  in 
any  court,  or  give  testimony  in  any  case,  that  would  clinch 
the  plan  and  make  it  certain.  "  Yes,  sir,"  said  he  :  "  that's 
what  we  mean  to  do,  and  then  we've  got  'em."  I  have  reason 
to  fear  that  this  man  was  disclosing  to  me  a  scheme  and  a  pur 
pose  which  was  conceived  by  men  of  more  power  and  influ 
ence  than  himself. 

New  Orleans,  Dec.  31,  1865. — One  day  this  week  Dr. 
invited  me  to  dine  with  him  at  Victor's,  a  noted  res 
taurant  here.  He  promised  that  I  should  meet  Beauregard, 
who,  however,  did  not  come.  I  believe  he  was  out  of  town ; 
but  we  had  an  intelligent  gentleman,  Mr. and  his  son-in- 
law,  Mr. ,  a  colonel  in  the  late  rebel  army.  Mr, is 

an  old  Whig,  and  an  admirer  of  Mr.  Clay,  and  we  soon  found 
our  disagreements,  touching  the  rebellion,  merged  in  our  po 
litical  affinities. is  the  son  of  an  old  acquaintance  of 

mine,  originally  from  Maryland,  and  for  some  time  Senator 


VISIT    TO    CUBA.  437 

from  Louisiana.  I  find  these  gentlemen  moderate  in  tone, 
good-humored  and  well  disposed  to  make  the  best  of  their 
overthrow.  Indeed,  I  believe  that  everywhere,  the  old  Whigs 
are  sincerely  disposed  to  sustain  the  Union.  They  have  really 
had  no  desire  for  disunion,  and  in  the  great  majority  of  cases, 
they  have  been  seduced  or  driven  into  the  war  by  false  repre 
sentations  or  by  force  of  circumstances  they  could  not  resist. 
Several  I  have  met,  have  protested  to  me  that  they  were  al 
ways  opposed  to  the  secession  movement,  and  were  rejoiced 
at  the  restoration  of  the  States  to  their  present  political  status, 
and  hoped  to  see  the  Union  made  stronger  than  ever.  The 
Democrats  are  not  as  weil  advanced  in  loyalty  as  this.  They 
cannot  conceal  their  sense  of  defeat.  They  are  generally 
silent,  often  angry  and  defiant  when  in  a  position  to  speak 
their  minds.  Of  course,  there  are  notable  exceptions  to  this 
temper,  and  especially  among  the  men  who  have  been  in  the 
actual,  conflicts  of  the  war.  The  women  of  this  party  betray, 
or,  rather  openly  and  somewhat  exultantly  announce,  the  sen 
timent  which  it  is  manifest  is  most  indulged  by  the  discon 
tented  rebels  at  home.  They  mutter  their  hatred  of  the  Yan 
kees  on  the  streets,  in  the  theatre,  and  in  the  public  saloon  of 
the  hotel,  with  but  little  caution  against  being  overheard. 

New  Orleans,  Dec.  31,  1865. —     *     *     *     ,  formerly 

of  Elk  Ridge,  in  Maryland,  called  with  his  wife  so  see  us.  I 
found  him  well  informed  on  the  condition  of  the  freed  negroes, 
and  well  inclined  to  aid  the  Government  in  the  effort  to  im 
prove  their  condition.  He  told  me  that  these  poor  creatures 
were  often  treated  by  the  planters  with  great  injustice  ;  and  he 
confirmed  the  impression  I  had  derived  from  my  fellow-pas 
senger  on  the  Ida  Handy,  of  the  settled  purpose  of  many  to 
oppress  them.  He  said  that  he  knew  of  cases  on  the  river, 
in  which  planters  engaged  negroes  even  as  high  as  thirty  dol 
lars  a  month,  with  the  condition  to  pay  at  the  end  of  a  year, 
and,  in  the  mean  time,  to  furnish  them  food  and  clothing,  and 
deduct  the  amount  at  which  these  are  valued,  out  of  the  sum 
due  at  the  expiration  of  the  year.  When  the  time  of  settle- 


400  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

ment  came,  the  laborers  found  themselves  brought  into  debt, 
instead  of  having  wages"  to  receive.  This,  he  said,  was  brought 
about  by  charging  every  thing  at  exorbitant  rates  ;  as,  for  in 
stance  :  pork  at  40  cents  a  pound ;  and  whiskey  (which  was  sup 
plied  bountifully)  at  $2.50  a  bottle,— whiskey  which  did  not 
cost  $1.00  a  gallon!  He  said  he  was  ashamed  to  recount 
such  facts,  but  they  were  too  significant  of  the  cause  of  the 
disorganized  labor  of  the  country,  to  be  concealed." 

Ey  way  of  finale  to  these  sketches  of  a  characteristic  ex 
perience  in  this  region  of  the   country,  still  rent  and  ravaged 
by  the  late  civil  war,  after  describing  his  arrangements  for  the 
voyage  to  Cuba,  and  their  departure,  he  thus  vividly  portrays 
A    Week  on  the  Bar. 

On  board  the  Morning  Star  at  the  mouth  of  the  Missis 
sippi,  Jan.  9,  1866. — While  we  were  sitting  at  breakfast  on  the 
morning  of  the  third,  I  felt  a  sense  of  gradually  retarded  mo 
tion  in  the  keel,  which  brought  the  exclamation  to  my  lips  : 
"  We  are  aground  in  the  mud  !"  It  was  a  curious  conscious 
ness  of  a  great  body  sliding  with  its  natural  momentum  into 
a  yielding  bank  that  gave  no  sudden  resistance,  no  shock,  or 
unpleasant  disturbance,  but  which,  in  a  few  seconds  brought 
the  invading  force  to  a  state  of  rest.  We  all  felt  it,  and  it  re 
quired  no  announcement  to  assure  us  that  we  were  fast  upon 
the  "  Bar."  Upon  going  on  deck,  we  perceived  a  large  ship 
some  fifty  or  a  hundred  yards  behind  us,  fast  as  ourselves.  It 
seems  that  she  had  come  to  a  halt  in  the  narrowest  part  of 
the  channel,  and  in  our  attempt  to  pass  her,  we  had  deflected 
from  our  proper  course,  and  were  caught  on  the  bank,  about 
half-way  between  this  vessel  and  a  conspicuous  buoy  set  up  to 
mark  the  spot  where  George  Hollins,  of  the  Confederate  Navy, 
had  ingloriously  sunk  his  iron-clad  ram,  after  being  whipped 
by  a  little  squadron  under  the  command  of  Craven,  in  an 
early  stage  of  the  Rebellion.  I  think  Hollins's  vessel  was 
called,  probably  as  a  nickname,  the  Mud  Turtle.  Every  one 
will  remember  his  gasconading  account  of  this  exploit,  pub 
lished  in  the  New  Orleans  papers  before  our  capture  of  that 


VISIT    TO    CUBA- 


439 


city,  and  the  ridiculous  comment  upon  it,  which  the  sinking  of 
his  ship,  and  his  own  flight  soon  afterward  supplied.  It  was 
between  these  two— the  sunken  Mud  Turde  and  our  stranded 
neighbor — that  we  were  forced  into  an  unwelcome  cradle. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  a  little  cold,— cold  enough  for  a  good 
fire  in  the  saloon,  and  for  a  great-coat  on  the  deck,— but  pleas 
ant  and  bright.      Soon  a  norther  set  in,  altogether  unmistak 
able.     The  wind  was  fresh  from  the  north,  and  the  weather- 
wise  on  board,  all  said  it  was  undoubtedly  good  for  three  days. 
Then  again,  the  captain  and  pilot  assured  us  that  this  wind 
blew  the  water  off  the  bar,  and  we  had  no  hope  of  extrication 
as  long  as  it  lasted  ;  so  we  resigned  ourselves  cheerfully  to 
our  fate,  and  made  the  best  of  it.     With  this  temper,  our  little 
community  became  quite  happy.    The  scenery  had  something 
attractive  for  my  eye.     The  great  river  upon  which  we  had  al 
ready  travelled  fourteen  hundred  miles,  was  here  poured  into 
the  ocean  over  a  broad  but  well-defined  channel,  which  separ- 
rated  into  three  divisions  or  forks,  was  marked  by  long  and 
narrow  strips  of  low,  sedgy,  marshy  land,  projecting  far  into 
the  sea.     Ours  was  the   main  pass,  and  we  could  see  its  full 
extent.     The  Southern  Pass  was  barely  definable  to  our  eyes 
by  the'low  streak  of  land  lying  far  off  in  the  direction  of  Tex 
as.     The  Pass  1'Outre  lay  north  of  us,  more  distinct,  but  still 
too  far  off  to  be  described  in  any  other  way  than  that  of  a  spit 
of  land  visible  on  the  northern  horizon.     Immediately  around 
us,  and  on  our  right  and  left,  the  sunken  shores  were  broken 
into  small  sand  banks  and  islets,  some  of  them  bare,  others 
covered  with  long  grass  or  cane  (I  suppose),  and  most  of  them 
marked  by  the  driftwood  that  projected  out  of  the  mud,  near 
the  water-line.     Everywhere  along  this  line  of  slimy  coast,  we 
saw  troops  of  pelicans,  herons,  gulls,  ducks,  and  other  fowl  of 
the  sea.     I  imagine  this  to  be  a  pretty  accurate  representation 
of  the  site  of  Venice,  before  the  fishermen  had  conceived  the 
idea  of  laying  the  foundation  of  a  city  at  the  mouth  of  the  Po. 
It  was  one  of  the  amusing  fancies  of  our  sojourn  here,  to  pro 
ject  the   New  Venice,  which  some  centuries  hence  may  be 
rearing  its  palaces  on  this  watery  base. 


440  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

There  is  just  before  us,  a  bark,  a  steamer  that  some  weeks 
ago  struck  on  Hollins's  Mud  Turtle  and  sunk  in  a  few  minutes, 
— luckily,  just  before  she  got  over  the  bar;  and  she  now  lies 
fast  in  the  mud  sunk  to  her  bends  and  leaving  her  deck  dry, 
on  which  we  now  find  a  number  of  persons, — busy,  I  suppose, 
in  getting  away  her  cargo  and  equipments.  This  wreck  we 
propose  as  the  nucleus  or  central  point  of  our  future  city.  It 
is  a  little  tantalizing  to  us  to  know  that  our  present  resting 
place  is  not  more  than  two  lengths  of  our  ship  from  the  outer 
edge  of  the  bar. 

We  have  some  very  clever  officers  to  our  ship.  The  cap 
tain — Captain  Quick — is  a  modest,  sensible  and  polite  gen 
tleman,  who  attracts  universal  esteem  both  for  his  professional 
and  personal  excellence.  Rich,  the  first  mate,  is  a  New  Eng 
land  man  of  rare  quality,  well  educated  and  self-reliant,  and 
greatly  respected.  Selden,  our  purser,  is  a  good  fellow,  very 
obliging,  and  Thornton,  the  steward,  worthy  of  all  trust.  The 
stewardess  is  a  trump.  It  is  a  singular  fact  that  when  E.  and 
I  crossed  the  Atlantic  in  1857,  with  Comstock,  in  the  Baltic, 
Mary,  the  stewardess,  attracted  our  particular  notice  by  her 
activity  and  kindness  ;  and  that  she  is  now  in  the  same  posi 
tion,  with  the  same  charge,  in  The  Morning  Star.  It  is  also 
curious  that  just  after  Lady  Franklin  left  us  in  Baltimore, — 
where  she  spent  a  week  in  our  house, — to  go  on  her  voyage  to 
California  round  Cape  Horn,  she  had  Mary  with  her,  and  we 
thus  learn  a  good  deal  of  Lady  F.'s  movements  after  her  de 
parture  from  us. 

Our  position  here  is  not  without  interest.  The  norther 
blows  steadily  without  any  sign  of  change  through  the  whole 
week,  but  the  weather  is  beautifully  clear,  and  we  find  our  as 
sociations  very  pleasant.  The  ship  is  profoundly  at  rest,  and 
we  have,  consequently,  no  sea-sickness.  We  make,  also,  new 

friends.  The  B 's  are  people  of  refined  life ;  and  there 

are  several  other  agreeable  companions  in  our  little  domain. 
Among  these  we  find  a  gentleman  who  lives  part  of  his  time 
in  New  York  and  part  in  Cuba, — Mr.  J —  B — .  It  was  an  un- 


VISIT    TO    CUBA.  441 

expected  coincidence  to  find  him  on  board,  as  C —  had  told  me, 
in  New  York,  that  I  might  find  him  in  Havana,  and  recom 
mending  him  warmly  to  our  regard,  requested  me  to  hunt  him 
up  and  use  his  (C.'s)  name  for  an  introduction.  Upon  this 
foundation  we  have  made  a  pleasant  acquaintance,  with  the 
promise  of  profit  from  it  hereafter.  I  find  that  we  have  on 
board  a  detachment  of  about  sixty  colored  soldiers  of  various 
regiments,  who  are  just  dismissed  from  the  hospital  in  New 
Orleans,  and  who  are  now  about  being  sent  to  Pennsylvania 
to  be  discharged  and  paid  off.  Among  these,  some  are  quite 
sick  with  chronic  dysentery.  I  take  some  of  the  weakest  of 
these  in  charge,  so  far  as  to  engage  kind  attention  to  them 
from  the  steward,  and  to  get  them  more  suitable  provisions 
than  their  rations.  Every  morning  when  we  come  on  deck, 
we  are  amused  to  find  an  additional  fellow-sufferer  with  our 
selves,  in  the  occasional  ship  which  daily  gets  on  the  bar,  and 
sticks  there  long  enough  to  give  us  a  little  of  that  amiable 
amusement  which  conies  from  seeing  a  neighbor  in  distress. 
Some  mornings  we  have  such  a  congregation  of  these  unfortu 
nates  as  to  raise  an  illusion  that  our  New  Venice  is  already 
begun,  and  that  her  docks  are  already  crowded  with  shipping. 
It  is  something  of  a  trial  to  our  equanimity,  however,  to  see 
these  little  fleets  gradually  working  out  of  their  trouble,  and 
leaving  us  still  here  to  watch  their  receding  volumes  of  smoke 
as  they  move  off,  both  seaward  and  up  the  river.  But  we  walk 
our  deck,  enjoy  the  weather,  have  excellent  fare  four  times  a 
day,  and  a  game  of  Bazique  every  evening, — not  so  bad  after 
all! 

We  have  encountered  one  quite  serious  drawback.  Poor 
Kate — Martha's  maid — was  taken  with  a  chill  on  the  next 
flay  after  our  coming  on  board,  and  this  has  been  followed  by 
a  low  fever  that  prevailed  all  the  week.  Luckily,  I  find  a 
French  physician  .on  board,  Doctor  Lefebre,  to  whom  I  apply 
for  assistance,  and  he  devotes  himself  to  our  service  with  the 
kindest  interest.  He  watches  our  patient  every  hour,  and  as 
there  is  a  good  medicine  chest  aboard,  he  is  enabled  to  treat 
19* 


442  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

the  case  as  well  as  if  we  were  on  shore.  He  tells  me  it  is  a 
typhoid  fever,  which  must  run  its  course,  and  which  he  appears 
to  manage  with  confident  skill.  He  is  obliged  to  maintain  a 
running  warfare  against  the  attacks  of  Mary,  the  stewardess, 
who  thinks  feeding  the  sick  as  sublime  a  charity  as  feeding  the 
hungry,  and  who  therefore  keeps  the  doctor,  who  believes  in 
starving  a  typhoid,  constantly  on  the  alert  to  protect  his  pa 
tient  from  Mary's  foraging  propensities,  and  her  stealthy  sup 
ply  of  soups  and  meats  from  the  kitchen.  The  doctor  at 
tempts  English  in  these  conflicts,  and  as  he  has  not  come  to  a 
definite  settlement  of  his  pronouns,  he  says  to  E.  and  M., 
"  Katy  must  no  heat, — if  he  heat  it  will  do  him  hurt — no  food 
as  is  hard,  it  inflame  his  stomach  ;  vary  leetle,  soft,  yes — gruel 
for  htm  best."  Very  lucky  for  Katy  this  Doctor  Lefebre  hap 
pens  to  be  aboard.  Poor  Martha,  who  is  so  tender-hearted 
and  sympathetic,  distresses  herself  greatly  at  this  inopportune 
sickness,  and  nurses  Katy  as  gently  and  unceasingly,  night 
and  day,  as  if  the  girl  was  her  sister  ;  and  "E.,  who  is  never 
happy  unless  she  sees  everybody  else  so,  is  disturbed  and  dis 
tressed  that  she  cannot  relieve  M.  by  sharing  her  watch.  The 
case  is  a  light  one,  the  doctor  says,  and  shows  no  symptoms 
of  a  dangerous  kind. 

We  have  had  half  a  dozen  tugs  at  us,  but  as  yet  with  no 
better  result  than  to  give  us  a  list  to  larboard  and  drag  us 
deeper  into  the  mud.  Day  after  day  rolls  on  without  material 
change.  The  wind  blows  persistently  from  the  north,  in  de 
fiance  of  all  predictions  to  the  contrary,  and  directly  in  the 
teeth  of  what  the  pilot  affirms  to  be  its  long-established  habit, 
and  against  every  idea,  in  these  parts,  of  its  respectable  de 
portment.  But  we  are  all  remarkably  good-natured,  and  be 
have  ourselves  like  a  company  of  philosophers.  One  of  our 
party,  only,  is  fractious.  I  do  not  notice  some  slight  murmurs 
which  prevail,  for  an  hour  or  two,  every  morning,  and  an  oc 
casional  intimation  from  a  few  to  get  up  a  card  to  censure  Mr. 
Courtenay,  the  agent  in  New  Orleans,  for  overloading  the  ves 
sel,  and  also  for  sundry  false  promises.  They  all  subside  in  a 


VISIT    TO    CUBA. 


443 


short  time,  and  are  merged  in  the  kind  feelings  we  all  have  for 
Captain  Quick  and  his  officers.  But  there  is  one  man  more 
testy  than  the  rest,  who,  on  the  fifth  day,  swears  he  won't  stand 
it,  and  actually  has  his  baggage  transferred  the  next  morning 
to  the  Costa  Rica,  a  large  steamer  which  has  been  on  the 
bar  for  two  days,  about  a  hundred  yards  or  so  distant  from  us, 
and  which  is  bound  up  to  New  Orleans.  Our  fretful  com 
rade  is  convinced  that  she  will  get  off  and  take  him  back  to 
New  Orleans  in  time  to  be  transferred  to  the  next  Havana 
packet,  and  enable  him  to  come  down  the  river  and  arrive  at 
his  destination  before  we  shall  get  away  from  here.  So  off  he 
goes  in  a  pet,  and  we  all  laugh  at  his  hopes  for  the  future. 
This  is  one  of  our  items  of  news  to  keep  us  alive  during  the 
morning ;  and  as  each  day  shows  us  the  Costa  Rica  in  her 
muddy  cradle,  still  quiet  and  submissive,  we  wonder  if  our  de 
parted  friend  begins  to  repent,  and,  if  he  does,  will  his  pride 
allow  him  to  come  back  to  us.  I  am  pretty  sure  he  is  sorry 
enough,  but  that  he  won't  come.  I  utter  this  opinion  to  a 
group  of  quidnuncs  with  the  gravity  due  to  so  profound  an 
observation  of  human  nature. 

Sunday  comes,  a  beautiful,  mild  day.  We  must  have  the 
church  service,  and  Captain  Quick  being  diffident,  comes  to 
me,  as  the  oldest  and  most  proper  person  on  board,  to  ask 
me  to  officiate  in  this  duty,  which  I  readily  consent  to  do. 
We  have  some  dozen  of  our  passengers  of  the  English  church, 
— the  rest  are  chiefly  Roman  Catholics, — none  of  whom,  I  be 
lieve,  come  into  the  saloon  to  unite  with  us  in  this  worship. 
A  reading-desk  is  improvised  in  the  middle  of  the  saloon,  a 
box  inverted  and  covered  with  our  flag,  the  stars  and  stripes, 
and  a  chair  converted  into  a  prie-dieu.  It  is  the  first  time  I 
have  ever  done  this,  but  I  believe  I  perform  my  duty  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all— certainly,  with  reverence  and  sincere  pur 
pose.  About  noon  of  this  day,  Sunday,  we  find  the  norther 
freshening  again,  after  it  had  almost  come  to  an  end.  The 
captain  determines  to  make  a  new  effort  with  the  tugs.  This 
he  does  in  the  evening,  but  without  effect.  Monday  he  talks 


444  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

of  telegraphing  up  to  New  Orleans  for  lighters  to  be  sent  to 
us.  But  we  wait  another  day.  On  Tuesday  the  captain 
takes  the  boat  and  with  one  of  our  fellow-passengers,  sets  off 
to  the  telegraph  station  at  the  light-house,  some  two  hours'  sail 
distant,  to  despatch  a  demand  for  help.  We  all  go  to  din 
ner  at  three.  The  captain  has  not  yet  returned.  While  we 
sit  at  table,  some  one  from  the  deck  rushes  to  the  companion- 
way  and  shouts  down  to  us :  "  We  are  off,  the  ship's  afloat !" 
We  don't  believe  it, — think  this  is  some  wild  enthusiast,  de 
ceived  by  his  wishes.  Several  run  up  the  steps  to  see  for 
themselves,  I  among  the  rest.  The  ship  is  in  full  motion,  free 
of  the  bar,  and  standing  seaward.  We  have  rounds  of  ap 
plause,  clapping  of  hands.  She  has  "brought  down  the 
house."  After  dinner  we  are  all  on  deck.  We  glide  slowly 
round  and  round  waiting  for  the  captain.  We  think  of  our 
misguided  friend  in  the  Costa  Rica,  which  is  still  on  the  bar. 
It  is  sundown,  or  near  it,  when  the  captain  arrives.  He  did 
not  believe  that  we  were  really  free  until  he  came  within  a 
few  miles  of  us.  It  was  so  unexpected,  so  little  to  be  ac 
counted  for.  All  our  tugs  did  nothing,  but  the  water  came  in 
from  the  Gulf,  apparently,  against  all  rule,  and  lifted  us  out  of 
our  bed.  So  now  we  are  in  a  fair  way  for  Havana.  An  hour's 
progress  shows  us  that  the  wind  has  changed,  and  this  moved 
the  volume  of  water  on  the  bar  before  the  change  reached  us 
in  the  air.  We  have  a  head  wind  and  a  rough,  chopping  sea." 
The  approach  to  Havana;  the  street  scenes,  vehicles, 
population,  ice  factory,  hospitalities  and  economics  are  very 
clearly  and  carefully  delineated  ;  but  they  are  too  familiar  for 
quotation  ;  we  have  a  bull  and  cock  fight  noted,  in  all  their 
peculiar  details ;  and  the  modus  operandi  of  a  great  segar 
factory  minutely  revealed :  "  after  we  had  gone  through  the 
establishment,"  says  his  journal,  noting  a  courteous  custom, 
"  and  returned  to  the  office  where  we  had  first  entered,  we 
were  surprised  by  the  compliment  of  a  presentation  to  each 
one  of  our  party,  including  our  servant,  of  a  roll  of  one  hun 
dred  cigarettes,  put  up  in  the  usual  style,  and  having  our  names 


VISIT   TO   CUBA.  14:5 

respectively  done  in  colored  lithograph  on  the  wrapper ; 
each  roll  was  adorned  with  a  picture  of  national  costume  or 
local  subjects."  They  experienced  much  kindness  and  visited 
different  parts  of  the  island,  enjoying  the  soft  warm  climate, 
examining  estates,  and  finding  a  novel  pleasure  in  the  contem 
plation  of  tropical  scenery  and  vegetation.  Having  a  special 
letter  of  introduction  to  the  Captain-General,  whose  name 
subsequently  became  so  well-known  in  connection  with  the 
suppression  of  the  rebellion  then  fomenting,  Mr.  Kennedy 
gives  an  interesting  account  of  a  dinner  to  which  he  was 
invited  by  this  functionary,  and  of  the  visit  of  Mr.  Seward, 
which  happened  to  occur  during  his  stay  : 

Havana,  January  n,  1866. — The  first  impression  made 
on  me,  as  I  pass  through  the  narrow  streets  and  under  the 
great  arcades,  is  that  I  have  landed  in  Algiers  or  Constanti 
nople.  Every  "thing  is  thoroughly  foreign.  The  architecture 
is  Moorish  ;  the  bright  colors,  the  low  buildings,  varied  with 
many  structures  quite  majestic  in  breadth  and  height ;  the 
high  balconies,  the  tile  roofs,  the  universal  absence  of  any 
show  of  wood  in  the  exterior  of  the  house,  except  the  great 
doors  and  shutters,  and  the  invariable  grating  of  the  windows 
with  iron  bars,  all  these  are  so  entirely  un-American,  in  our 
sense,  that  I  feel  as  if  I  had  landed  in  Gibraltar,  or  on  the 
Morocco  coast,  among  a  people  who  had  grown  old  under 
the  influence  of  centuries  of  mutual  suspicion  and  distrust 
and  too  inveterate  in  custom  to  attempt  any  step  in  the  path 
way  of  modern  progress.  Another  foreign  feature  is  exhibited 
in  the  uncouth  and  oppressive  harness  of  the  poor  little 
horses  that  are  driven  through  the  streets  under  loads  that 
seem  to  crush  them  to  the  earth.  There  is  an  expression  of 
weariness  and  pain  in  these  patient  beasts  that  goes  to  the 
heart  and  gives  a  stranger  an  unpleasant  conviction  of  the 
habitual  and  unconscious  cruelty  of  the  people. 

Havana,  January  20,  1866. — If  I  were  asked  after  my 
observation  of  a  week,  what  are  the  most  characteristic  occu 
pations  of  the  busy  world  of  Havana,  I  would  say — ist,  res- 


446  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

taurants;  2 d, barber-shops;  3d,  cigar  shops ;  4th,  tailors;  5'th, 
retailers  of  ladies'  wear  in  lawns,  cambrics,  penas  and  mus 
lins.  After  these  come  the  heavy  business  of  commerce, 
situated  along  the  front  of  the  harbor.  On  Wednesday  dur 
ing  this  week,  I  called  at  the  Palace  to  present  my  letter  of 
introduction  to  the  Captain-General.  I  was  informed  by  Mr. 
Minor,  our  Consul,  that  General  Dulce  was  very  easy  of  access, 
and  that  my  presentation  needed  not  to  be  formal— all  that 
was  necessary  was  to  go  to  the  Secretario  Politico  and  make 
known  my  purpose.  I  accordingly  asked  for  him  and  was 
shown  into  his  ofjfke,  in  an  entresol  opening  on  the  court 
yard  to  the  right  of  the  great  entrance.  On  reaching  this 
exterior,  I  found  several  persons  waiting  at  the  door.  I 
passed  these  and  entered  an  ante-chamber,  where  several 
clerks  were  seated  at  their  desks.  I  said :  "  I  wish  to  see 
the  Secretary."  They  all  understood  enough  of  my  French 
to  point  me  towards  an  inner  room,  and  to  give  me  some 
instruction  in  Spanish,  which  left  me  as  wise  as  when  I  came 
in.  I  passed  on,  a  second  chamber  with  clerks  as  before. 
I  approached  one  with  my  card.  "  Do  me  the  kindness 
to  give  this  to  the  Secretary,"  I  said  in  French.  He 
understood  my  card,  if  not  my  language,  and  took  it  into 
another  room,  from  which  I  heard  a  conversation  going  on  in 
Spanish  between  the  Secretary  and  some  visitors.  Presently 
a  gentleman  appeared  at  the  door  of  this  room,  who  bowed 
very  civilly  and  asked  me  in  the  language  of  the  country, 
to  come  in.  I  presented  my  letter  from  my  friend  Phelps, 
saying  that  I  had  come  to  make  my  respects  to  Son  Ex 
cellence  le  Capitaine-General,  and  to  deliver  that  letter. 
The  Secretary  took  it,  read  it,  bowed,  and  said  he  would 
immediately  place  it  in  General  Dulce's  hands.  He  added 
that  the  Captain-General  was  not  very  well,  and  it  was  doubtful 
if  he  could  receive  me  to-day.  "  I  would  not  incommode 
him,  I  would  call  some  other  day  !" — "  Oh !  no,  sir,  wait, 
I  will  see  him."  I  took  Mr.  Seward's  card,  which  he  had 
given  me  in  New  York,  with  a  brief  introduction  written 


VISIT    TO    CUBA. 

upon  it,  and  told  the  Secretary  that  Mr.  S.  had  desired  me  to 
present  that  with  his  respects.  I  begged  him,  therefore,  to  give 
it  to  the  Captain-General  with  my  letter. 

He  left  me  and  returned  in  a  few  minutes  with  the  Cap 
tain-General's  compliments,  and  the  expression  of  his  wish  to 
see  me.     I  asked  the  Secretary  if  the  Captain-General  spoke 
English.     «  No."    Nor  French  ?     "  No,  nothing  but  Spanish." 
"  It   is   unfortunate  !      I    will    accompany   you,"    said  he  in 
French,  so  taking  a  little  winding-stair  from  the  entresol  to 
the  floor  above,  we  emerged  upon  a  broad  corridor  that  open 
ed  upon  a  suite  of  very  large   apartments,  handsomely  fur 
nished  in  the  style  of  the  country,  and  all  paved  with  marble. 
We  entered  one  saloon  some  sixty  feet,  I  should  say,  in  length, 
by  twenty  in  breadth.     There  were  four  gentlemen  walking 
abreast  toward  the  upper  end.     They  turned  round  as  soon  as 
we  entered,  and  one  of  them  advancing  in  front  of  the  others, 
approached  me  with  a  kind  regard,  while  the   Secretary  intro 
duced  me  to  him  as  the  Captain-General.     The  Captain-Gen 
eral  left  his  party,  and  invited  me  to  a  seat  on  the  sofa  where 
I  sat  beside  him,  with  the   Secretary  at  my  left  hand.     Our 
conversation  was  conducted  in  French  on  my  part,  and  inter 
preted  in  Spanish  by  the  Secretary,  answered  in  Spanish,  and 
brought  to  me  by  the  same  aid  in  French.     The  Secretary 
spoke  no  English,  although  he  told  me  he  could  read  the  lan 
guage.   The  interview  lasted  half  an  hour.  The  Captain-Gen 
eral  was  very  cordial   and  kind.     I  told  him   I  was  commis 
sioned  by  Mr.  Seward,  the  Secretary  of  State,  at  Washington, 
to  express  to  him  the  grateful  emotion  with  which  our  Govern 
ment  had  received  his  letter  of  condolence  on  the  death  of 
Mr.  Lincoln.     This,  of  course,  was  received  by  him  with  the 
gravity  due  to  the  reference  to  such  a  subject.    He  sympathized 
very  deeply  with  the  people  of  the  United  States,  in  the  loss 
of  so  distinguished  and  so  beloved  a  President,  and  he  was 
struck  with  horror  at  the  dreadful  crime  of  his  assassination. 
In  a  moment  afterwards  we  came  to  lighter  topics,  and  our 
countenances  had  all  resumed  their  proper  cheerfulness.    I  then 


448  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.    KK.VXKDY. 

ventured  to  say  that  I  had  another  charge  from  Mr.  Seward  : 
to  thank  him  for  the  three  boxes  of  cigars  which  His  Excellency 
had  sent  as  a  personal  token  of  his  sympathy  in  his,  Mr.  S.'s 
affliction  from  the  hand  of  the  assassin.  I  said  Mr.  Seward 
was  a  great  smoker,  and  was  very  happy,  in  the  progress  of 
his  recovery,  to  be  supplied  with  such  an  enjoyment  from  the 
friendly  Governor  of  Cuba.  The  Captain-General  smiled, 
and  said  it  gave  him  great  pleasure  to  hear  this  ;  that  he  had 
great  respect  for  Mr.  Seward.  I  answered  that  Mr.  Seward 
spoke  in  warm  terms  of  his  regard  for  the  Captain-General, 
and  that  no  person  would  be  welcomed  at  Washington  by  the 
Administration,  with  a  more  friendly  reception  than  His  Ex 
cellency  would  find,  if  he  could  make  it  suit  his  occasions  to 
visit  that  city  on  his  way  back  to  Spain,  whither,  it  was  now 
understood,  he  was  soon  about  to  retire.  "  In  a  few  months  I 
hope  to  be  relieved  from  duty  here,"  he  said,  "  and  I  propose 
to  visit  the  United  States  in  my  homeward  route.  I  have  a 
great  desire  to  see  New  York,  Philadelphia  and  Washing 
ton." 

As  Mr.  Seward  is  now  making  a  voyage  among  the  islands 
of  this  region,  and  is  understood  to  have  a  visit  here  in  con 
templation,  I  asked  the  Captain-General  if  he  had  received 
any  message  from  him.  He  said  he  had,  and  expected  him  here 
every  day  ;  asked  me  if  I  knew  where  he  would  stay  in  Ha 
vana  ?  I  did  not.  He  would  like  to  make  him  his  guest ; 
would  be  glad  if  I  would  let  him  know  if  I  heard  any  thing 
of  Mr.  S.'s  plans,  which  I  promised  to  do,  if  I  learned  any 
thing  before  the  Captain -General  himself,  and  so  we  ended  our 
interview. 

In  the  early  part  of  this  conversation,  I  happened  to  say 
to  the  Captain -General  that  I  had  made  a  visit  to  his  Quinta, 
a  pretty  villa  on  the  Pasco,  where  he  resided  in  the  summer, 
and  that  I  admired  it  very  much.  To  which  he  immediately 
replied,  "  Wouldn't  I  do  him  the  favor  to  take  possession  of 
it,  during  my  sojourn  in  Cuba.  I  would  find  it  very  pleas* 
ant."  This  was  a  Spanish  compliment  which  rather  star- 


VISIT    TO    CUBA.  449 

tied  me,  and  which  I  met,  as  he  doubtless  intended  I  should, 
by  thanking  him  for  the  kindness  of  such  a  friendly  offer, 
adding  the  expression  of  my  regret,  that  it  was  riot  in  my 
power  to  avail  myself  of  it.  Before  we  parted,  he  wished  to 
know  if  I  would  not  do  him  the  honor  to  dine  with  him  at 
some  day  when  his  health  would  permit  him  to  ask  of  me  that 
gratification ;  to  which  I  replied  I  should  be  very  happy  to  enjoy 
that  pleasure.  "  I  will  hold  you  to  your  promise  very  soon." 

Havana,  Jan.  27,  1866. — Mr.  Seward  had  arrived  on  Sat 
urday,  and  was  to  spend  only  three  days,  and  this  was  a  dinner 
offered  to  him  by  General  Dulce,  the  Captain-General.  Fred 
erick  Seward  and  his  wife  and  her  sister  accompanied  the  Sec 
retary  of  State.  They  were  in  the  frigate  De  Soto,  Captain 
Walker,  and  had  been  making  a  circuit  round  the  islands,  St. 
Thomas,  San  Domingo  and  Cuba,  and  were  on  their  return 
to  the  United  States. 

When  E.  and  I  called  on  Saturday  morning  at  Mrs.  Al- 
my's,  where  they  had  got  rooms,  to  see  them,  they  were  all 
abroad,  and  it  was  not  until  evening,  when  we  repeated  our  call, 
that  we  found  them.  Mr.  S.  was  looking  very  well,  although 
having  a  strong  mark  on  his  right  lower  jaw  of  the  terrible 
wound  made  by  the  brutal  rebel  who  sought  to  assassinate  him. 
Frederick  had  also  received  great  benefit  from  his  voyage, 
and  was  apparently  completely  restored  to  health.  There  was, 
at  both  hours  of  our  visit,  a  crowd  of  persons,  Cubans,  I  sup 
pose  (as  they  are  said  to  be  particularly  anxious  to  demon 
strate  their  respect  for  the  United  States,  and  also  their  hope 
from  that  quarter),  in  the  entrance  to  the  hotel,  and  press 
ing  up  stairs,  to  get  a  bow,  if  no  more,  from  our  Premier. 
I  told  Mr.  S.  what  interest  the  Captain-General  expressed  to 
me,  in  his  visit  to  the  island,  and  his,  the  Captain's,  wish, 
that  Mr.  S.  would  remain  here  for  some  days,  which  I  also 
recommended  to  him,  if  he  could  properly  give  himself  the 
time.  But  Mr.  S.,  as  he  said,  was  obliged  to  get  back  to 
Washington,  where  matters  of  business  were  now  urging  his 


ifc» 
return. 


450  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

The  dinner  on  Monday  was  an  occasion  of  great  state. 
I  happened  to  arrive  at  the  entrance  of  the  palace,  just  at 
the  moment  when  Mr.  Seward,  Frederick,  and  Mr.  Minor, 
our  American  Consul,  alighted,  and  I  followed  them  up  to 
the  drawing-room.  Here  were  already  assembled  a  large 
number  of  guests,  I  should  say  about  sixty  ;  an  assemblage 
of  exceedingly  dignified  and  really  striking  persons.  Among 
them  I  noticed  many  officers,  military  and  naval,  in  splendid 
uniforms,  and  prominent  in  the  group,  the  Captain-General, 
with  richly-embroidered  blue  coat,  garnished  with  scarlet  and 
gold,  and  conspicuous  also  for  the  broad  red  ribbon  across  the 
breast.  He  received  me  with  great  courtesy,  and  his  Sec 
retary,  or  friend  for  the  occasion,  M.  Isnaga,  who  speaks 
English  very  well,  by  his  direction  introduced  me  to  a  num 
ber  of  dignitaries  around  him  ;  to  Admiral  Herrera,  to  Gen 
eral  ,  the  commander  of  the  troops  here,  to  the  Gover 
nor  of  the  city,  Signer ,  a  very  handsome  man.  Mr. 

Seward  and  his  son  were  subjects  of  great  interest  to  the 
company,  and  everybody  was  presented  to  them.  Captain 
Walker  also,  of  the  De  Soto,  attracted  attention,  of  which  he 
was  well  worthy,  as  a  fine  specimen  of  our  naval  men. 

The  Captain-General  put  me  under  charge  of  M.  Isnaga, 
and  we  were  invited  into  the  dining-room,  a  large  saloon  very 
splendidly  set  off  by  the  dinner-table  which  was  loaded  with  rich 
plate,  beautiful  porcelain  and  a  fine  display  of  flowers.  The 
Captain-General — Marquis  of  Castel  Florete,  to  give  him  his 
proper  title — sat  in  the  middle  seat  of  the  side  of  the  table, 
with  Admiral  Herrera  immediately  opposite  to  him.  Mr.  Sew 
ard  was  placed  upon  his  right,  I  upon  his  left,  with  Mr.  Is 
naga  next  to  me.  On  the  admiral's  right  was  Captain  Walker  ; 
— some  Spanish  naval  officer,  perhaps,  or  general,  for  I  did  not 
know  the  difference,  on  his  left.  Our  consul,  Mr.  Minor,  was 
next  to  Mr.  Seward.  The  dinner  was  unexceptionable,  every 
thing  admirable,  and  its  general  aspect  very  brilliant.  It  had 
also  the  recommendation  of  being  short.  The  Captain-General 
is  in  delicate  health,  and  neither  eats  or  drinks  to  the  soberest 


VISIT    TO    CUBA.  451 

measure  of  a  festival.  I  observed  that  he  refused  almost  every 
dish  and  confined  himself  to  what  was  specially  furnished  him, 
— a  thin  rice  soup  and  very  little  meat.  We  had  some  fine 
light  wines,  one  round  only  of  champagne,  and  some  very 
delicious  but  very  short-lived  sherry.  I  think  that  was  all. 
Our  host  rose  to  his  feet  as  soon  as  we  had  come  to  the  des 
sert,  and  made  a  speech  in  Spanish  which  I  could  only  trans 
late  so  far  as  to  perceive  that  it  referred  in  complimentary 
terms  to  Mr.  Seward.  M.  Isnaga  rose  and  gave  the  sub 
stance  of  it  in  English,  in  a  conversational  tone,  to  Mr.  S. 
Whilst  he  was  struggling  through  his  task,  Mr.  S.  whispered 
to  me  that  he  would  reply  to  the  governor's  speech  with  ref 
erence  to  our  government,  but  that  I  must  speak  for  him  in  the 
personal  reference  to  himself.  Mr.  Seward  then  rose  and 
made  an  excellent  speech,  in  which  he  managed  with  great  tact, 
to  speak  of  Spain,  her  queen,  and  the  relations  of  the  United 
States  to  both,  with  his  usual  address.  M.  Isnaga  was  again 
called  into  requisition  to  turn  all  this  into  Spanish  for  the  ben 
efit  of  the  company,  which  he  did  very  well.  Then  came  a 
speech  from  the  admiral,  of  which  I  did  not  understand  one 
word,  and  which  was  not  translated  ;  whereupon  I  took  the  floor 
and  gave  the  company  about  as  much  edification  as  the  ad 
miral  had  given  us.  What  I  said  particularly  concerned  Mr. 
Seward.  I  spoke  specially  in  reply  to  the  compliments  to  him. 
I  found  out  afterwards  that  the  admiral  had  been  saying  some 
thing  in  commendation  of  our  navy. 

The  Cambre,  Matanzas,  Feb.  23,  1866. — On  this  ridge  of 
the  Cambre  is  a  sugar  plantation,  belonging  to  a  gentleman  in 
Matanzas.  Don  Cosme  had  his  volante  to  add  to  our  convey 
ance,  and  he  took  us  to  this  estate,  and  brought  us  into  the 
House  or  Quinta,  where  he  produced  a  lunch  which  he  had 
brought  with  him.  Here  we  visited  the  grinding  mill  and  saw 
the  negroes  at  work, — no  better  off  in  any  respect  than  the 
mules  that  were  harnessed  to  the  beam  that  turned  the  mill. 
All  work  together,  cattle  and  negroes,  under  the  same  crack  of 
the  whip,  and  the  overseer  stalked  about  the  scene  of  labor 


452  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

with  a  sword  girded  around  his  waist,  the  most  sullen  and  in 
compressible  of  despots.  One  poor,  meagre,  feeble  and  deject 
ed  woman, — apparently  a  mother  of  a  family, — some  fifty 
years  old, — was  toiling  in  a  most  laborious  task  of  gathering 
the  cane,  which  lay  in  heaps  near  the  mill,  in  armfuls,  and  tak 
ing  them  up  several  steps  to  the  hopper  of  the  mill  and  throw 
ing  them  in  to  feed  the  grinding.  It  was  a  heavy  weight  which 
exacted  a  painful  stooping  to  the  ground  and  toilsome  ascent 
of  the  steps, — and  all  this  she  was  doing  without  cessation, 
and  burdened  with  an  iron  band  around  her  waist  from  which 
was  suspended  a  chain  of  several  pounds  weight,  the  lower 
end  of  which  was  attached  to  her  ankle  by  a  ring.  This,  I 
suppose,  "was  a  punishment  for  some  offence,  perhaps  an  at 
tempt  to  escape,  which  is  regarded  as  the  greatest  of  crimes  a 
slave  can  commit ;  or  it  may  have  been  for  too  slow  work  and 
'  love  of  rest,  which  an  overseer  regards  as  a  most  heinous  and 
unnatural  proclivity  in  the  negro.  The  poor  woman's  counte 
nance  expressed  her  anguish,  but  expressed  it  in  vain,  and  to 
a  taskmaker  whose  heart  was  stone.  We  visited  the  quarters 
of  these  poor  wretches.  There  was  a  stone  wall  some  ten  feet 
high,  enclosing  a  square  of  about  an  acre.  The  entrance  to 
this  was  a  large  iron-barred  gate  or  grille,  through  which  we 
could  look  into  the  enclosure.  This  was  opened,  and  we  were 
admitted.  The  space  within  was  dreary  and  dismal,  without 
a  tree  or  shrub,  not  even  grass.  There  was  a  stone  or  brick 
furnace  in  the  centre  which  supplied  the  means  of  boiling  food 
in  a  large  cauldron  which  seemed  to  be  the  only  cooking  uten 
sil.  Here,  I  suppose,  the  corn,  or  whatever  provision  was  giv 
en,  was  prepared  for  the  whole  community  of  negroes  who  were 
driven  into  the  enclosure  every  night,  as  oxen  are  driven  into 
a  stable.  The  sleeping  quarters  were  miserable  sheds  a  few 
feet  wide,  and  some  eight  or  ten  feet  long,  which  were  built  up 
against  the  wall.  These  sheds, — of  which  we  examined  some 
two  or  three,  were  black,  dirty,  and  even  loathsome  to  look 
at,  and  contained  such  uncouth  sleeping  accommodations  as 
could  be  composed  out  of  tattered  and  coarse  blankets  and 


VISIT   TO    CUBA.  453 

rags  of  worn  out  coverlets.  Some  swing  in  a  kind  of  hammock, 
others  in  rough  plank  or  log  bedsteads,  and  all  as  dingy  and 
black  as  if  they  were  used  in  a  stable.  Such  wretchedness,  I 
have  never  seen,  such  parsimony  and  such  cruel  neglect.  I 
thank  my  God  that?  at  last,  the  day  has  dawned,  which  having 
driven  the  abomination  of  slavery  from  our  land,  is  soon  to 
witness  its  extirpation  in  this,  its  most  painful  and  wicked 
abode.  Our  great  achievement  in  the  cause  of  human  rights 
and  universal  freedom  is  yet  to  find  its  crowning  glory  in  the  ulti 
mate  expulsion  of  African  slavery  from  the  face  of  the  earth." 

The  journal  of  this  trip  includes  the  period  between  Nov. 
28th,  1865,  and  April  8th,  1866.  Their  return  through  the 
Southern  States  was  attended  with  much  discomfort,  owing  to 
the  bad  state  of  the  railroads  and  unfrequent  accommoda 
tions  ;  but  their  course  of  travel  led  them  through  the  region 
over  which  Sherman's  troops  had  passed,  and  where  many  of 
the  memorable  scenes  of  the  war  occurred  ;  at  Montgomery, 
Atlanta  and  Charleston,  they  saw  the  vestiges,  material  and 
moral  of  the  fierce  struggle,  and  visited  the  shattered  fortress 
of  Sumter  where  it  so  ruthlessly  began. 

Charleston,  April  5,  1866. — We  have  had  some  opportu 
nity  to  observe  what  overwhelming  loss  and  privation  has  been 
brought  upon  this  community.  A  large  portion  of  the  city  is 
in  ruins,  from  the  fire  as  well  as  the  bombardment.  We  have 
spent  one  day  in  an  excursion  to  Fort  Sumter,  and  other 
places  in  the  bay,  where  the  ravage  of  the  war  is  most  com 
plete.  It  is  sad  to  see  such  an  utter  prostration  of  a  thriving 
community,  under  any  circumstances,  but  to  find  it  visiting 
our  fellow-countrymen,  worthy  and  excellent  people,  and 
brought  upon  them  by  their  own  folly  —  renunciation  of 
country  and  extravagant  claim  of  a  right  to  destroy  the  work 
of  their  fathers, — an  enterprise  in  which  success  could  only 
bring  unmixed  disaster,  and  in  which  failure  could  be  attended 
by  no  consolation  of  a  virtuous  aim  to  mitigate  its  disgrace, — • 
these  considerations  make  the  shattered  and  suffering  city  now 
in  our  view,  the  saddest  of  monuments  ever  given  to  defeated 


454:  LIFE   OF    JOHN    P.   KENNEDY. 

pride.  History  has  no  record  of  a  rebellion  so  base  in  its 
purpose,  or  so  silly  in  its  prosecution.  All  that  can  be  said 
of  it  by  friends  or  apologists  will  fail  to  rescue  it  from  the 
terrible  disgrace  of  a  war  got  up  in  the  happiest  epoch  of  na 
tional  peace  and  prosperity,  by  men  professing  to  stand  before 
the  world  as  the  special  champions  of  free  government,  and 
as  the  children  of  the  greatest  republic  known  in  human  an 
nals, — a  war  of  unexampled  passion  and  ferocity  got  up  by 
such  men  and  waged  with  such  cruelty  and  persistence,  as  was 
never  equalled,  for  four  years, — to  do  what  ?  To  perpet 
uate  slavery,  and  to  extend  it  over  that  great  domain  from  the 
Atlantic  to  the  Pacific, — the  most  glorious  empire  of  the  fu 
ture  to  which  the  whole  world  will  look  with  a  religious  hope 
as  to  a  happy  refuge  against  oppression  and  wrong  for  many 
ages  to  come, — and  to  plant  there  the  great  political  curse 
against  which  our  fathers  protested  as  a  prominent  justifica 
tion  for  our  separation  from  England  nearly  a  century  ago. 
Yes,  this  wretched  rebellion  which  we  have  just  vanquished, 
originated  in  no  better  aspiration  than  the  permanent  defence 
of  the  great  crime  of  slavery.  And  it  had  no  nobler  hope 
before  it  than,  for  this  end,  to  create  a  political  disintegration 
which  would  have  banished  peace  from  our  continent  for  cen 
turies  to  come,  and  have  led  to  such  petty  rivalry  among 
States  as  to  have  rendered  national  unity  and  free  government 
impossible." 

On  the  road  North,  April  6,  1866. — We  left  Charleston 
last  night  a  little  before  midnight.  We  had  hardly  got  well 
on  our  course  before  I  heard  two  travellers  who  were  sitting 
before  me  conversing  about  an  attempt  to  do  some  mischief 
to  this  train  the  night  before,  by  firing  into  it  as  it  passed  upon 
the  road.  This  conversation  was  scarcely  concluded,  before 
I  heard,  as  I  sped  rapidly  along,  three  shots,  in  succession, 
apparently  directed  against  us.  I  learned  afterwards  that 
these  shots — both  evenings — were  supposed  to  be  discharged 
at  the  persons  managing  the  engine, — some  political  grudge, 
perhaps, — as  I  understand  such  incidents  are  common  at  this 


VISIT   TO   CUBA.  4H5 

time.  General  Ames,  who  commands  at  Columbia,  told  me 
a  few  nights  ago,  when  I  met  him  at  the  Mills  House,  that 
during  the  winter  just  gone,  there  were  two  hundred  negroes 
shot  within  the  range  of  his  command  in  the  upper  country, 
and  chiefly  by  pistols  or  rifles  fired  into  the  railroad  trains  in 
the  cars  appropriated  to  the  blacks  ;  that  these  acts  were  per 
petrated  out  of  sheer  malice  towards  the  negroes,  against 
whom  the  hostility  of  the  people  was  displayed,  not  on  indi 
vidual  grudge,  but  in  hatred  of  the  changed  condition  of  the 
race.  Of  the  two  hundred  shot,  some  eighty  were  killed — the 
others  wounded." 


456  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Last  Visit  to  Europe  ;  Last  Public  Appearance  ;  Failing  Health  ;  Last 
Illness  ;  Death  ;  Burial  at  Green  Mount ;  Tributes. 

IN  the  seventh  of  July,  1866,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kennedy 
and  Miss  Gray  sailed  from  New  York,  in  the  Arago,  to 
make  a  more  extensive  tour  as  well  as  longer  sojourn  than  they 
had  been  able  to  do  on  previous  occasions.  After  landing 
at  Havre  on  the  twenty-first  of  the  same  month  and  resting  a 
few  days  at  Paris,  they  went  to  Switzerland,  to  the  Italian 
lakes  ;  and  returned  across  the  Splugen.  Of  this  delightful 
summer  tour,  commencing  at  Geneva  and  ending  at  Salzburg, 
Mr.  Kennedy  kept  a  vivacious  chronicle,  wherein  his  love  of 
nature  and  his  discriminating  observation  of  society,  are 
agreeably  evident.  Every  now  and  then,  his  attention  is 
excited  by  political  events  at  home,  and  the  earnestness  of  his 
comments  show  how  much  his  heart  was  absorbed  in  the  wel 
fare  of  his  native  land  ;  and  how  many  thoughts  regarding 
her  past  and  future,  foreign  experience  suggested  to  his  mind. 
Often,  too,  his  literary  tendencies  are  awakened  and  some 
scene  or  subject  gives  him  hints  for  a  tale  or  an  essay. 

Mr.  Kennedy  prepared  for  and  regulated  his  visits  abroad 
with  characteristic  method  ;  he  was  richly  supplied  with  de 
sirable  introductions :  he  was  usually  accompanied  by  a 
charming  young  friend  ;  his  notes  of  routes  and  expenses  are 
careful  and  authentic  ;  few  Americans  go  abroad  with  such  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  their  own  country,  with  a  more  in 
telligent  pride  in  her  growth  and  destiny  ;  and  so  admirably 
equipped  with  genial  social  qualities,  whereby  to  represent 
and  vindicate  American  principles.  Moreover,  for  many  years, 


LAST    VISIT    TO    EUROPE.  457 

he  had  entertained,  in  a  delightful  manner,  the  most  eminent 
of  our  trans-Atlantic  visitors  ;  as  a  member  of  Congress  and 
Secretary  of  the  Navy,  he  had  been  brought  into  contact  with 
diplomatic  residents,  had  corresponded  with  influential  people 
abroad,  and  therefore  found  himself  at  once  at  home  where 
so  many  of  our  travelling  countrymen  are  strangers.  The 
ladies  of  his  family  were  excellent  travellers  ;  and  on  board 
the  steamer  at  sea,  at  the  literary  breakfasts  and  state  dinners, 
on  excursions,  by  the  way,  and  at  the  fireside,  he  was  always 
the  favored  guest  and  favorite  companion. 

While  at  Nice  Mr.  Kennedy  met  the  officers  of  the  Ticon- 
deroga,  among  whom  were  several  of  his  old  naval  friends  ; 
and  attended  a  pleasant  fete  on  board,  of  which  he  writes  : 
"  They  have  cotillions  and  waltzes  on  deck,  under  a  canopy 
of  flags.  The  women  were  very  pretty — much  more  striking 
than  any  other  nationality  could  supply  here.  Altogether  the 
meeting  of  our  society,  under  their  own  flag,  was  very  effect 
ively  conducted  and  a  source  of  great  enjoyment." 

The  journey  into  Italy  was  made  very  delightful  by  friend 
ly  encounters  along  the  route  ;  and  in  his  journal  Mr.  Ken 
nedy  does  ample  justice  to  his  impressions  of  Mentone, 
Monaco,  St.  Remo,  Parma,  Bologna,  Loreto,  and  Terni,  while 
his  experience  at  Rome  is  given  in  detail ;  he  became  well 
acquainted  with  the  leading  artists,  carefully  explored  galleries, 
palaces  and  churches,  and  became  heartily  weary  of  the  car 
nival  follies.  His  account  of  their  presentation  to  the  Pope  is 
very  graphic. 

He  was  interested  at  Florence  in  attending  the  Italian 
Parliament,  and  on  returning  to  Paris,  found  that  city  of  art 
crowded,  and  the  Great  Exposition  in  the  full  tide  of  success. 
His  appointment  as  United  States  Commissioner,  gave  him 
many  social  privileges,  and  an  insight  into  political,  scientific 
and  literary  life.  He  became  well-acquainted  with  Guizot, 
Chevalier,  Rouher,  Jules  Simon,  Garnier-Pages,  Pelleton,  Gi- 
rardin  and  Guilliare,  the  sculptor.  For  many  weeks  his  life  was 
a  whirl  of  social  excitement  and  official  work  ;  as  one  of  the 
20 


458  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

jury  on  Sculpture  and  a  Uniform  system  of  Weights  and  Meas 
ures,  he  was  brought  into  intimate  contact  with  many  conti 
nental  celebrities.  At  the  same  time  he  enjoyed  the  choicest 
society  among  his  own  countrymen  and  the  English  visitors. 
He  soon  made  apparent  his  superior  method  and  facility  in 
the  discharge  of  his  duties,  and  won  at  once  the  confidence 
and  respect  of  his  colleagues.  The  period  to  which  this  part 
of  his  journal  is  devoted,  may  justly  be  considered  the  cul 
minating  era  of  the  Empire,  when  its  material  prosperity 
reached  its  acme  ;  the  first  fatal  incident  prophetic  of  its 
downfall — the  execution  of  Maximilian,  and  failure  of  the 
Mexican  expedition,  followed  swiftly  upon  the  gayeties  and 
triumphs  of  the  Exposition.  It  is  interesting  and  suggestive, 
in  view  of  the  present  calamities  of  France,  to  revert  to  these 
reminiscences  of  her  proud  and  palmy  days,  and  recall  Paris 
in  the  height  of  imperial  embellishment  and  eclat. 

With  other  United  States  Commissioners,  Mr.  Kennedy 
received  the  compliment  of  being  made  Chevalier  cle  1'ordre 
de  la  legion  d'honneur  ;  "  what  for,"  he  writes,  "  I  am  unable 
to  say,  unless  it  be,  as  the  minister's  note  describes  it,  as  a 
mark  of  benevolence  for  assisting  at  the  Exposition,  and  to 
show  respect  for  our  country."  He  had  frequent  interviews 
with  Hector  Bossanger  and  his  son  at  their  publishing  house, 
with  reference  to  the  selection  and  supply  of  books  for  the 
Peabody  Institute. 

Later  in  the  summer  our  travellers  visited  some  of  the  En 
glish  watering-places,  and  then,  by  way  of  Calais  and  Brussels, 
the  German  Spas  ;  at  Baden  and  Homberg,  they  met  a  host. 
of  old  friends  ;  and  in  the  autumn  went  to  Spain  through 
the  south  of  France,  Bordeaux,  Pau  and  Biaritz.  The  cities 
of  Spain,  the  gallery  at  Madrid,  Seville,  Cordova,  Malaga, 
Grenada,  the  Escurial,  cathedrals,  the  bolero,  a  bull  fight,  the 
peasants,  the  gypsies  and  the  dons,  the  scenery,  and  all  the  as 
pects  and  adventures  incident  to  such  a  tour,  find  charming 
record.  Irving's  memory  made  the  Alhambra  more  fascina 
ting  to  his  friends,  and  the  picturesque  mountains  of  Valencia^ 


LAST    VISIT    TO    EUROPE.  459 

with    "the    blooming   almond-trees    and   great   orchards   of 
olives,"  charmed  their  senses.      The  peculiar  interest  of  Mr. 
Kennedy's  journal  is,  that  he  has  a  special  as  well  as  a  sym 
pathetic  eye  for  nature  and  life  ;  the   economies   and  discom 
forts  of  his  journey  are  as  truly  noted  as  the  beauties  of  na 
ture  and  art  are  gracefully  described.     A  memorable  episode  of 
his  last  experience  abroad,  was  a  trip  to  Tangier.     The  period 
of  this  final  visit  to  Europe,  just  before  the  subsequent  politi 
cal  and  ecclesiastical  agitations  and  the  recent  war ;  the  many 
interesting  social  experiences  recorded,  and  descriptions  of 
places  not  in  the  familiar  route  of  European  travel,  combined 
with  the  fact  that  the  journal  may  be  considered  the  latest  of 
his  deliberate  literary  undertakings,  make  it  both  appropriate 
and  desirable  to  publish  the  record,  or  at  least  portions  of  it, 
in  a  separate  volume,  which  cannot  fail  to  interest  and  gratify 
the  author's  many  friends.     May,  1868,  found  Mr.  Kennedy 
and  the  ladies  again  in  London,  where  their  former  social  in 
tercourse  was  renewed  and  extended.     In  June  they  visited 
the  North  of  Europe  and  found  novel' pleasure  in  the  scenery 
of  Norway,  the  capital  of  Sweden,  and  the  historic  localities  ' 
of  Denmark.     After  an  interesting  sojourn  at  St.  Petersburg?!, 
they  returned  by  the   way  of  Frankfort,  to    Homberg,  and 
thence  hastened  to  Paris  to  fulfil  "innumerable  commissions," 
and  returning  to  London,  soon  afterwards  embarked  for  home. 
Their  old  friend,  Sir  Richard  Packenham,  came  to  Liverpool 
to  say  farewell,  whence  they  sailed  on  the  fifteenth  of  October 
for  the  United  States.     When  Mr.  Kennedy  found  himself  at 
home  again  after  an  absence  of  twenty-six  months,  he  said  to 
his  wife,  on  arriving  at  the  house,  "  No.  90  Madison  Street 
once  more !     I  was  -afraid  I  would  die  abroad.     I  am  so  glad 
to  be  under  my  own  dear  roof  once  more  !" 

And  he  adds  (Baltimore,  Oct.  24, 1868)  :  A  week  at  home  ; 
delightful  weather,  greetings  of  friends.  In  many  particulars 
great  changes  have  occurred.  The  city  has  increased  very 
greatly,  both  in  population  and  in  buildings..  The  acerbities 
of  the  war  have  not  altogether  disappeared.  There  is  no  very 


400  L1KK    OF    -IOILN     1'.  KKMXKDY. 

cordial  surrender  of  the  hostilities  that  have  prevailed  between 
many  whose  friendships  were  obliterated  by  the  quarrel.  Still, 
there  is  some  advance  toward  a  better  state  of  feeling." 

Soon  after  his  return,  Mr.  Kennedy  made  his  last  public 
appearance.  The  occasion  and  scene  are  thus  noted  in  his 
diary : 

Nov.  2,  1868. — On  Thursday  last  I  received  an  invitation 
from  the  Republican  Committee,  to  preside  over  a  great  meet 
ing  of  the  party  appointed  to  be  held  in  the  theatre  on  Front 
Street,  on  Saturday  evening  the  3ist  of  October.  This  was  to 
be  the  last  great  meeting  of  the  canvass.  I  accepted,  and  at 
the  appointed  time  repaired  to  the  theatre,  accompanied  by 
two  gentlemen  of  the  Committee  of  Management.  The  scene 
was  very  brilliant.  Every  seat  in  the  large  theatre  was  filled 
— the  boxes  presenting  an  array  of  pretty  women  ;  the  house 
brilliantly  lighted ;  a  fine  picture  of  General  Grant  over  the 
stage, — on  one  side  a  soldier  in  full  equipment, — on  the  other 
side  a  sailor  of  the  navy  with  a  boarding-pike, — both  men 
provided  for  the  occasion, — served  as  supporters  to  the  scene. 
The  effect  of  this  was  very  good.  The  stage  was  occupied  by 
some  hundred  or  more  gentlemen,  who  were  invited  to  serve 
as  Vice-Presidents,  Secretaries,  etc.  There  were  also  a  num 
ber  of  persons  who  were  to  address  the  meeting ;  besides 
these  some  conspicuous  citizens.  The  Committee,  after  a  pre 
lude  from  a  fine  band  of  music  in  the  orchestra,  announced, 
through  General  Andrew  W.  Denison,  their  chairman,  the  pro 
posal  of  my  name  as  President,  which,  of  course,  according  to 
the  established  usage  of  such  occasions,  was  received  with 
'great  enthusiasm.  This  was  followed  by  the  nomination  of 
some  seventy  Vice-Presidents  and  between  twenty  and  thirty 
Secretaries.  A  unanimous  vote  was  given  for  the  whole  list, 
accompanied  by  "  deafening  cheers,"  in  the  midst  of  which 
I  took  my  seat ;  and  when  this  complaisant  and  excited  as 
sembly  had  subsided  into  calm,  I  arose  and  made  the  follow 
ing  remarks  *  .  *  *  which  I  would  insert  here  if  they  were 
not  too  long,  and  if  they  were  not  already  reported  and  faith- 


LAST    PUBLIC    Arri'.AKANri:. 

fully  given  in  the  newspapers  of  this  morning  •" — from  which 
the  following  extracts  are  taken  : 

Fellow-Citizens: — It  is  a  subject  of  pleasant  reflection  to 
me,  that  after  an  absence  of  more  than  two  years  from  my  own 
country,  I  should  be  greeted,  in  almost  the  first  moments  of 
my  return,  with  an  invitation  to  preside  over  such  a  meeting 
as  this,  composed  as  it  is  of  personal  and  political  friends,  with 
many  of  whom  I  have  acted  on  the  theatre  of  public  affairs  dur 
ing  a  great  part  of  my  life,  and  to  whom  I  may,  therefore,  ap 
peal  as  witnesses  to  the  integrity  with  which  I  have  ever  ad 
hered  to  my  own  convictions  of  the  right,  and  performed  the 
duty  which  those  convictions  imposed  upon  me.  (Applause.) 
Such  an  invitation,  I  think,  I  have  good  reason  to  regard — as 
things  go  in  these  days  of  versatile  politics  and  fickle  politi 
cians — as  an  opportune  and  honorable  testimony  from  the 
Central  Committee  to  the  constancy  of  my  devotion  to  the 
principles  in  which  I  have  been  educated,  and  for  which  I  have, 
on  several  occasions,  been  honored  with  the  charge  of  impor 
tant  posts  in  the  administration  of  both  the  National  and  State 
Governments.  (Cheers.)  I  think  it  opportune  just  now  be 
cause  I  observe  in  some  quarters  that  my  name  has  been  regis 
tered  among  the  crowd  of  recent  converts  from  the  Democratic 
party  who  are,  it  is  said,  daily  sliding  into  the  ranks  of  Grant 
and  Colfax.  (Cheers.)  Now  I  take  this  occasion  to  say,  with 
all  respect  for  the  Democratic  party,  among  whom  I  have  many 
valued  friends,  that  I  have  never  held  a  fellowship  with  it  in 
any  phase  of  its  varied  and  changeful  career ;  and  I  may  add 
that  if  my  meditations  had  ever  led  me  into  that  alliance,  I 
should  most  certainly  have  turned  my  back  upon  it  and  made 
a  rapid  retreat,  when  it  committed  the  folly  of  nominating  Sey 
mour  and  Blair.  (Applause.) 

It  is  not  my  purpose,  fellow-citizens,  to  use  the  privilege 
of  my  present  position  in  the  attempt  to  make  a  contribution 
to  the  business  of  this  evening  by  any  thing  that  might  claim  to 
be  called  a  speech.  Unfortunately  for  myself,  but  perhaps  for 
tunately  for  you,  I  have  neither  the  strength  nor  the  voice  for 


462  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

such  an  essay  in  this  spacious  theatre,  and  before  such  a  con 
course  as  now  fills  its  seats.  The  treatment  of  the  subjects 
appropriate  to  the  occasion  I  leave  to  the  younger  and  more 
practised  friends  of  our  cause,  who  have  tendered  their  ser 
vices  for  this  duty. 

You  will  hear  from  them  much  more  to  interest  you  than 
any  thing  I  could  say.  I  shall,  however,  ask  your  indulgence 
for  a  few  cursory  remarks  upon  a  topic  which  has  been  very 
prominently  brought  to  my  notice  in  my  late  visit  to  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  and  which  I  think  worthy  of  an  attentive 
consideration  by  our  countrymen  at  this  time.  No  one  who 
has  had  opportunity  to  observe  the  impression  made  upon  the 
mind,  I  may  say,  of  the  civilized  world,  by  the  events  which 
have  transpired  in  our  country  during  the  last  eight  years, 
could  fail  to  note  the  very  remarkable  change  these  events 
have  produced  in  the  general  estimate  of  the  character  and  val 
ue  of  our  Union.  (Applause.)  However  sad  these  events 
may  have  been  to  us  in  the  acting,  they  have  proved  to  be 
above  all  price  to  the  nation  in  what  I  may  call  their  histori 
cal  results.  They  have  shown  our  Union  to  be  what  was  not 
believed  before — a  real  government — permanent,  indissoluble, 
invincible,  and  fully  adapted  to  all  the  emergencies  of  national 
life.  (Cheers.)  Never  before  has  it  been  so  universally  ac 
knowledged  to  be  the  symbol,  the  bond  and  supreme  glory  of 
a  great  NATION — a  nation  that  has,  to  the  astonishment  of 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  old  world,  suddenly  emerged  from  what 
they  regarded  as  a  doubtful  and  undetermined  destiny  into  a 
paramount  and  predominant  master  State,  peer  to  the  proudest 
empires  of  Christendom,  whose  alliance  is  courted  and  whose 
influence  is  felt  over  the  whole  globe  ;  whose  word  is  almost 
a  command,  and  whose  favor  is  a  reward  to  be  coveted  in  the 
diplomacy  of  nations. 

It  is  now  both  admired  and  feared  as  an  exemplar  of  re 
publican  power,  able  to  cope  with  "  mightiest  monarchies,"  and 
as  a  model  of  free  and  prosperous  government.  Its  predestined 
mission  is  believed  to  be  to  lead  in  the  advance  of  the  civili- 


LAST   PUBLIC    APPEARANCE. 


463 


zation  of  the  world,  and  to  make  popular  freedom  the  final 
heritage  of  all  nations.     (Cheers. )    All  reflecting  men  see  in  our 
recent  history,  in  the  terrible  trials  of  our  unhappy  strife,  and 
the  courage  and  endurance  with  which,  on  both  sides,   they 
were  met  and   mastered  ;   in  the  exhaustless  resources  that 
war  brought  into  view ;  in  the  singular  magnanimity  and  clem 
ency—without  a  parallel  in  history — practised  by  the  govern 
ment  to  the   vanquished   at   its  close  ;   and  in   the    ease  with 
which  the  nation  threw  aside  its  armor  and  its  military  ambi 
tion  when  the  task  of  war  was  finished  ;  in  all  these  events  sa 
gacious  men  see  with  a  profound  interest  the  uprising  of  a 
new  political  wonder ;  the  day-spring,  or  rather  the  meridian 
glory,  of  a  new  era,  a  new  revelation,  and  a  new  world.     (Ap 
plause.)    This  is  the  fame  already  won  by  our  great  Republican 
Union  in  the  suffrage  of  all  enlightened  people  abroad.    I  have 
brought  this  significant  fact  to  your  view  because  I  desire  to 
impress  it  upon  you  and  the  country  as  our  most  earnest  duty 
to  justify,  vindicate  and  protect  this  fame  at  home.     (Cheers.) 
We  may  congratulate  ourselves  upon  the  present  aspect 
of  affairs,  which  seem  so  auspicious  to  the  full  realization  of 
that  happy  future,  which  our  friends  abroad  have  thus  pictured, 
and  which  our  patriotic  citizens  at  home  are  now  laboring  to 
secure." 

With  these  characteristic  and  consistent  sentiments,  Mr. 
Kennedy  took  leave  of  his  fellow-citizens,  impaired  health 
thenceforth  confining  his  activity  to  his  library  and  the  social 
and  domestic  circle.  That  he  was  aware  of  his  failing  strength 
notwithstanding  the  uniform  cheerfulness  which  marked  his 
intercourse  with  family  and  friends,  is  apparent  from  the  fol 
lowing  note  in  his  journal : 

Baltimore,  February  i,  1869.— I  find  myself  so  frequently 
assailed  by  that  infirmity  which  troubled  me  before  I  went  to 
Europe, — a  weariness  consequent  upon  any  close  application 
of  mind  for  a  few  hours,— that  I  have  been  obliged  to  econo 
mize  my  capacity  for  labor  and  to  avoid  or  abandon  every 
thing  Kke  study,  beyond  an  hour  or  two  in  the  morning.  And 


LTFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNED V. 

besides  this,  I  am  so  often  affected  by  an  unsteadiness  of 
nerve  as  to  render  the  effort  to  write  so  painful  and  slow  as  to 
compel  me  to  relinquish  it  sometimes  every  day  for  a  week. 
It  has  thus  happened  that  I  have  laid  my  journal  aside,  only 
to  be  taken  up  at  such  intervals  as  I  find  propitious  to  my 
work." 

The  cause  of  this  feebleness  was  not,  as  might  be  inferred, 
a  natural  result  of  advanced  life  and  a  constitution  always 
delicate.  An  internal  tumor  had  formed  in  the  abdominal 
viscera  and  occasionally  produced  functional  derangement. 
Still  there  were  long  intervals  of  comfortable  health  and 
scarcely  any  perceptible  decrease  of  vivacity  of  mind  and 
buoyancy  of  spirits.  Mr.  Kennedy  set  out  upon  his  usual 
summer  visit  to  Sharon  in  July,  i860,  and  while  there  the 
fatal  malady  first  declared  itself.  A  subsequent  visit  to  Sar 
atoga  proved  highly  beneficial ;  and  he  passed  the  months 
of  August  and  September  very  agreeably  at  Newport,  re 
turning  to  Baltimore  in  October.  But,  during  the  ensuing 
winter,  he  suffered  repeated  attacks  from  the  same  local 
cause  and  lived  quietly  and  carefully  at  home.  Every  even 
ing  his  old  friend  Pennington  came  to  play  bezique  with 
the  invalid  ;  and  he  found  no  small  cheer  and  charm  in 
the  society  of  his  fair  cousin  and  adopted  niece  and  her 
children. 

While  at  Saratoga,  in  the  month  of  July,  1870,  he  had  a 
very  severe  attack  from  the  cause  we  have  mentioned ;  and, 
for  some  time,  great  anxiety  was  felt  by  his  family  and  friends ; 
after  one  of  the  paroxysms  of  pain,  he  said  to  his  wife  : 
"  Lizzie,  you  cannot  wish  me  to  live,  to  go  through,  every  few 
weeks,  such  pain."  He  however  rallied,  and  arrived  at  Newport 
later  in  the  month,  much  improved.  The  pleasant  cottage 
of  his  sister-in-law  was  soon  frequented  by  a  host  of  his 
old  friends ;  all  manifested  so  much  regard  and  sympathy  that 
he  was,  perhaps,  never  more  happy  than  during  these  last 
\veeks  of  his  life.  It  was  remarked  that  he  was  singularly 
cheerful  and  enjoyed  conversation  with  unusual  zest.  He 


LAST    ILLNESS    AND    DEATH. 


465 


made  his  friends  oblivious  both  of  his  age  and  infirmities  ;  so 
that  his  death  was  to  them  as  much  a  shock  as  a  grief.  The 
Sunday  previous  to  his  last  attack,  he  was  as  usual,  the  life 
of  the  house.  He  gladly  welcomed  the  young  family  of  his 
kindred  who  had  so  gladdened  the  confinement  of  the  winter. 
He  merrily  questioned  "  that  bewitching  child,"  as  he  used 
to  call  his  favorite  little  Bessie,  in  French,  Italian  and  Ger 
man  ;  and  when,  a  day  or  two  after,  as  he  lay  feeble  unto  death, 
she,  having  caught  the  idea  of  his  approaching  departure, 
looked  pleadingly  in  his  face  and  said,  "  Don't  go  away,  Uncle 
John,  I  don't  want  you  to  go  away,"  he  gazed  earnestly  upon 
her,  but  was  silent,  while  her  mother  hurried  her  from  the 
room. 

He  took  a  walk  on  the  cliffs  Sunday  afternoon  ;  but,  on 
the  following  morning,  his  symptoms  became  threatening ; 
the  former  remedies  did  not  remove  the  functional  obstruction  ; 
he  suffered  very  much  during  one  day  ;  but,  after  that,  pain 
ceased  and  exhaustion  commenced ;  his  mind  was  clear  and 
calm.  On  Thursday  morning  he  partook  of  the  Holy  Com 
munion  with  a  happy  and  child-like  faith  that  impressed  all 
around  him  ;  and  at  ten  o'clock  the  same  evening,  August 
1 8th,  1870,  he  peacefully  expired. 

His  funeral  took  place  at  Baltimore,  very  quietly,  on  the 
following  Sabbath ;  and  his  remains  were  placed  in  the  beau 
tiful  cemetery  of  Green  Mount,  of  which  he  said,  thirty  years 
before,  in  his  Dedication  Address  :  "  Here,  within  our  enclos 
ures,  how  aptly  do  these  sylvan  embellishments  harmonize 
with  the  design  of  the  place  ! — this  venerable  grove  of  ancient 
forest ;  this  lawn  shaded  with  choicest  trees  ;  that  green 
meadow,  where  the  brook  creeps  through  the  tangled  thicket 
begemmed  with  wild  flowers  ;  these  embowered  alleys  and 
pathways  hidden  in  shrubbery,  and  that  grassy  knoll  studded 
with  evergreens  and  sloping  to  the  cool  dell  where  the  foun 
tain  ripples  over  its  pebbly  bed : — all  hemmed  in  by  yon  nat 
ural  screen  of  foilage  which  seems  to  separate  this  beautiful 
spot  from  the  world  and  devote  it  to  the  tranquil  uses  to 


466  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

which  it  is  now  to  be  applied.  Beyond  the  gate  that  guards 
these  precincts  we  gaze  upon  a  landscape  rife  with  all  the 
charms  that  hill  and  dale,  forest-clad  heights  and  cultivated 
fields  may  contribute  to  enchant  the  eye.  That  stream  which 
northward  cleaves  the  woody  hills,  comes  murmuring  to  our 
feet  rich  with  the  reflections  of  the  bright  heaven  and  the 
green  earth  ;  thence,  leaping  along  between  its  granite  banks, 
hastens  towards  the  city  whose  varied  outline  of  tower, 
steeple,  and  dome,  gilded  by  the  evening  sun  and  softened  by 
the  haze,  seems  to  sleep  in  perspective  against  the  southern 
sky  :  and  there,  fitly  stationed  within  our  view,  that  noble  col 
umn,  destined  to -immortality  from  the  name  it  bears,  lifts  high 
above  the  ancient  oaks  that  crown  the  hill,  the  venerable  form 
of  the  Father  of  his  Country,  a  majestic  image  of  the  death- 
lessness  of  virtue. 

Though  scarce  a  half  hour's  walk  from  yon  living  mart, 
where  one  hundred  thousand  human  beings  toil  in  their  noisy 
crafts,  here  the  deep  quiet  of  the  country  reigns  broken  by  no 
ruder  voice  than  such  as  marks  the  tranquillity  of  rural  life, — 
the  voice  of  "  birds  on  branches  warbling," — the  lowing  of  dis 
tant  cattle,  and  the  whetting  of  the  mower's  scythe.  Yet  tidings 
of  the  city  not  unpleasantly  reach  the  ear  in  the  faint  murmur 
which  at  intervals  is  borne  hither  upon  the  freshening  breeze, 
and  more  gratefully  still  in  the  deep  tones  of  that  cathedral 
bell, 

Swinging  glow,  with  sullen  roar, 

as  at  morning  and  noon,  and  richer  at  eventide,  it  flings  its 
pealing  melody  across  these  shades  with  an  invocation  that 
might  charm  the  lingering  visitor  to  prayer." 

Nor  can  I  refrain  from  quoting  the  pleasant  meditations 
this  consecrated  scene  inspired  in  a  mind  and  heart  whose 
purity  and  truth  seemed  prophetic  of  the  immortality  he  so 
trustfully  greets  : 

"  Kind  is  it  in  the  order  of  Providence  that  we  are,  in  this 
wise,  bade  to  make  ourselves  ready  for  that  inevitable  day 


BURIAL  AT  GREEN  MOUNT.  467 

when  our  todies  shall  sleep  upon  the  lap  of  our  mother  earth. 
Wise  in  us  is  it,  too,  to  bethink  ourselves  of  this  in  time,  not 
only  that  we  may  learn  to  walk  humbly  in  the  presence  of  our 
Creator,  but  even  for  that  lesser  care,  the  due  disposal  of  that 
visible  remainder  which  is  to  moulder  into  dust  after  the  spirit 
has  returned  to  God  who  gave  it.     Though  to  the  eye  of  cold 
philosophy  there  may  be  nothing  in  that  remainder  worthy  of 
a  monument,  and  though,  in  contrast  with  the  heaven-lighted 
hopes  of  the  Christian,  it  may  seem  to  be  but  dross  too  base 
to  merit  his  care,  yet  still  there  is  au  acknowledged  longing  of 
the  heart  that  when  life's  calenture  is  over,  and  its  stirring  er 
rand  done,  this  apt  and  delicate  machine  by  which  we  have 
wrought  our  work,  this  serviceable  body  whereof  our  humanity 
has  found  something  to  be  vain,  shall  lie  down  to  its  long  rest 
in  some  place   agreeable   to  our  living  fancies,  and  be  per 
mitted,  in   undisturbed   quiet,  to   commingle  with   its  parent 
earth. .    The  sentiment  is  strong  in  my  bosom, — I  doubt  not  it 
is  shared  by  many,— to  feel  a  keen  interest  in  the  mode  and 
circumstances  of  that  long  sleep  which  it  is  appointed  to  each 
and  all  of  us   to   sleep.     I  do  not  wish  to  lie  down  in  the 
crowded  city.     I  would  not  be  jostled  in  my  narrow  house,— 
much  less  have  my  dust  give  place  to  the  intrusion  of  later 
comers  :    I  would  not  have  the  stone  memorial  that  marks  my 
resting-place   to   be   gazed   upon    by  the   business-perplexed 
crowd  in  their  every-day  pursuit  of  gain,  and  where  they  ply 
their  tricks  of  custom.     Amid   this  din  and  traffic  of  the  liv 
ing  is  no  fit  place  for  the  dead.     My  affection  is  for  the  coun 
try,— that  God-made  country,  where  Nature  is  the  pure  first 
born  of  the  Divinity,  and  all  the  tokens  around  are  of  Truth. 
My  tomb  should  be  beneath  the  bowery  trees,  on  some  pleas 
ant  hill-side,  within  sound  of  the  clear  brattling  brook  ;  where 
the  air  comes   fresh   and  filled  with  the  perfume  of  flowers ; 
where  the  early  violet  greets  the  spring,  and  the  sweet-briar 
blooms,  and  the  woodbine  ladens  the  dew  with  its  fragrance  ; 
where  the  yellow  leaf  of  autumn  shall  play  in  the  wind ;  and 
where  the  winter  snow  shall  fall  in  noiseless  flakes  and  lie  in 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

unspotted  brightness  ;— the  changing  seasons  thus  symbolizing 
forth  even  within  the  small  precincts  of  my  rest,  that  birth  and 
growth  and  fall  which  marked  my  mortal  state ;  and  in  the 
^  renovation  of  Spring  giving  a  glad  type  of  that  resurrection 
which  shall  no  less  surely  be  mine."* 

How  resigned  Mr.  Kennedy  had  become  to  the  encroach 
ments  of  ill-health  upon  his  activity ;  and  how  undiminishecl 
were  the  warmth  of  his  friendship  and  his  sense  of  duty  to 
others,  is  apparent  from  the  final  notes  he  addressed  to  two 
of  his  most  faithful  and  valued  correspondents ;  and  the  very 
last  letter  from  his  pen,  written  to  his  godson. 

BALTIMORE,  April  2,  1809. 
To  GEORGE  S.  BRYAN,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  BRYAN:—*  *  *  *  But  in  this  matter  of 
punctual  work  and  faithful  correspondence  I  find— and  it  is 
quite  a  startling  disclosure  to  me,  who  have  not  quite  got  rid 
of  the  conceit  that  the  man  and  boy  in  me  have  never  entirely 
parted  company— that  three-score-and-ten  with  some  odds 
besides,  are  really  open  to  the  suspicion  of  the  delinquency  of 
old  age.  I  never  suspected  it  until  the  demands  of  my  almost 
daily  letters  brought  me  to  that  shuffling  evasion  of  duty  which, 
for  a  while,  I  was  willing  to  set  down  to  voluntary  laziness  (a 
miserable  hypocrisy  that  Bryan  ;— for  you  know  I  haven't  a  lazy 
bone  in  my  body),  but  which,  at  last,  I  am  obliged  to  confess 
comes  from  failure  both  of  head  and  hand — and  there,  you 
have  the  secret  of  my  reticence, — as  the  fashionable. phrase  is. 

**#*****## 

BALTIMORE,  June  16, 1870. 
To  HON.  R.  C.  WINTHROP. 

MY  DEAR  WINTHROP  :— It  is  but  small  consolation  to  me 
when  I  look  at  my  letter  file  and  see  some  three  or  four  of 
your  letters  asking  for  a  word  of  recognition  from  me,  to  argue 
my  good  intentions  and  my  infirmity  of  hand  for  that  silence 


Address  at  the  Dedication  of  Green  Mount  Cemetery,  July  13,  1839. 


LAST    LETTERS.  4-09 

which  I  daily  resolve  to  break — for  it  is  so  persistently  fol 
lowed  by  a  new  delinquency  in  the  breach  of  my  resolve, 
as  to  bring  me  nothing  better  than  a  new  regret.  But  I 
know  you  will  pardon  these  habitual  short-comings  like  the 
good  and  trusty  friend  you  have  always  been,  and  indulge  me 
in  that  constrained  silence  which  is  in  truth  only  the  sign  and 
warning  of  the  more  inevitable  that  comes  with  gentle  step 
and  I  trust  a  friendly  message  to  make  it  welcome. 

My  health  is  greatly  impaired  within  the  last  year,  and  I 
have  almost  renounced  all  work  or  at  least  all  obligation 
towards  it,  and  keep  myself  as  useless  as  my  laziest  acquaint 
ance — masterly  inactivity  for  the  rest  of  my  life. 

Your  letter  of  the  roth  shows  you  in .  pleasant  contrast 
with  me,  busy  as  ever  in  your  vocation,  which  certainly  makes 
large  demands  upon  you.  The  account  of  the  Codex  Diplo- 
matices  Cavenses  is  very  interesting,  and  we  shall  be  de 
lighted  to  have  it  in  the  "  Peabody" — so  I  beg  you  to  put  us 
down  for  a  full  copy.  I  don't  understand  what  is  meant  by 
the  Astor  subscribing  for  three  volumes  at  thirty  francs  each. 
Does  that  include  the  whole  work  or  only  some  special  de 
partment  of  it  ?  From  the  description  as  published  in  the 
pamphlet  I  should  suppose  there  would  be  many  volumes  in 
the  series.  I  must  leave  it  to  you  to  determine  for  us,  if  there 
be  any  reason  for  discrimination  of  subjects,  only  saying  to 
you,  that  we  prefer  to  have  all  that  properly  belongs  to  any 
projected  compilation.  Perhaps  it  will  be  the  best  direction  I 
can  give  at  present  to  say — subscribe  for  us  as  Ticknor  has 
for  the  Boston  Public  Library. 

We  all  leave  next  week.  Miss  Gray  is  to  go  to  Newport, 
Mrs.  Kennedy  and  I  to  Saratoga,  where  I  am  directed  to  go 
by  my  physician  to  spend  some  weeks; after  that  we  join  Miss 
G.  for  the  summer.  Sharon  does  not  agree  with  me,  and  so 
we  keep  away.  The  doubt  is,  whether  my  trouble  is  organic 
or  functional,  to  which  I  say  that  at  seventy-five  or  thereabouts, 
the  difference  is  not  worth  a  debate.  I  hope  we  shall  all 
meet  this  summer  at  Newport  or  Boston,  or  both ;  and  I  do 


470  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

most  heartily  wish  that  Mrs.  Winthrop  would  find  some  cure 
for  that  terrible  privation  she  suffers  in  the  weakness  of  the 
eye.  It  is  beautiful  to  see  how  patiently  and  cheerfully  she 
bears  this  affliction,  which  really  her  friends  seem  to  complain 
of  more  than  she  does  herself.  We  all  send  her  love  and 
sympathy,  with  kindest  regards  to  you,  and  I  am,  my  dear 
Winthrop, 

Very  truly  your  friend, 

JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

NEWPORT,  August  llth,  1870. 
To  J.  P.  KENNEDY  BRYAN. 

MY  DEAR  KENNY  : — I  would  long  ago  have  written  to  tell 
you  how  much  I  was  gratified  by  the  good  report  of  your  letter 
of  July  1 2th,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  irksomeness  of  the  labor 
of  my  pen.  The  difficulty  of  writing  seems  to  increase  every 
day,  so  I  am  obliged  to  economize  my  work  and  so  level  it,  as 
to  kill  two  or  more  birds  with  one  stone.  I  have  waited  there 
fore  till  now  to  say  "  Well  done  my  boy  !"  and  to  admonish  you 
of  the  near  approach  of  your  sophomoric  race  for  which  you 
must  prepare  yourself.  You  must  come  on  here  a  few  days  in 
advance  of  the  term,  as  you  did  last  year,  in  order  to  be  put  in 
efficient  condition  for  your  move  to  the  front.  Write  me  a  line, 
before  you  come,  to  let  me  know  when  to  expect  you.  Give 
our  love  to  your  father  and  mother  and  the  rest,  and  tell  the 
judge  that  I  am  happy  to  assure  him,  that  the  current  of  pub 
lic  opinion  in  this  family  very  fully  coincides  with  that  of  the 
Greenville  editor,  in  regard  to  the  propriety  of  his  journey 
(which  he  neglected  to  pursue)  to  Flat  Rock. 
Very  truly,  my  dear  Kenny,  Yours, 

J.  P.  KENNEDY. 

The  Baltimore  American  thus  announced  his  death  : 
"  Our  distinguished  fellow-citizen,  John  Pendleton  Kenne 
dy,  has  gone  to  his  rest.     In  these  days  of  intense  and  one 
sided  development  is  there  not  a  lesson  for  us  in  his  useful 


TRIBUTES.  471 

life  ?  When  the  material  progress  of  the  age  overshadows  the 
growth  of  individual  character,  is  it  not  well  to  pause  and  ask 
ourselves  what  is  the  secret  of  this  life  in  which  personal  influ 
ence  seems  to  make  the  man  so  much  greater  than  his  works  ? 
It  is  that  he  was  not  an  extremist,  that  he  gave  scope  to  the 
development  of  his  character  ?  A  man  of  wealth,  he  did  not" 
labor  to  acquire  untold  riches ;  a  man  of  leisure,  he  was  not 
an  idler,  but  dedicated  his  energies  to  politics  and  literature. 
His  worthy  ambitions  and  noble  aims  were  not  debased  to  the 
passions  of  power  and  success.  His  was  not  a  surface  life, 
but  was  softened  by  the  Rembrandt  back-ground  of  calm  re 
pose  and  social  culture.  His  genial  humor,  his  happy  smile, 
his  boyish  elasticity  of  temper  make  his  death  almost  incredible. 
Where  is  the  young  man  of  to-day  who  is  so  young  as  John  P. 
Kennedy  was  at  seventy-five  ?  This  sweet,  sound  old  age  was 
due  to  the  healthy  moral,  physical  and  intellectual  development 
of  his  faculties  ;  none  were  left  dormant  and  none  were  over 
strained.  He  might  have  written  better  novels  if  all  his  ener 
gies  had  been  given  to  novel  writing ;  he  might  have  held  high 
offices  if  he  had  taxed  his  strength  in  the  race  for  power ;  he 
might  have  become  a  merchant  prince  if  he  had  consecrated 
his  life  and  wealth  to  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness ;  but,  in 
each  instance  he  would  have  sacrificed  himself.  We  hesitate  to 
invade  the  sacredness  of  his  home  but  to  those  who  dwelt 
within  its  circle,  there,  too,  he  became  a  living  example.  His 
personal  friends  will  remember  him  with  a  sense  of  loss,  and 
yet  of  completeness.  These  words  are  addressed  to  that  large 
and  aimless  class  termed  "  men  of  leisure,"  that  is,  men  who 
are  not  workers  of  necessity — men  who  in  America  become 
either  luxurious  idlers  or  the  slaves  of  self-imposed  ambitions. 
To  such  as  these  the  lesson  of  John  P.  Kennedy's  life  is  full 
of  instruction." 

The  public  attestation  of  his  worth  and  loss  was  not  the 
only  or  the  most  impressive  testimony  thereto  ;  wherever  the 
sad  news  of  his  death  became  known,  it  elicited  heartfelt 
tributes  of  sorrow  and  eulogy — most  of  them  sent  in  the  form 


472  LTFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KKXXKDY. 

of  letters  of  condolence  to  Mrs.  Kennedy  ;  they  came  from 
plantation  and  mart,  from  manor-house  and  official  bureau, 
from  the  homes  of  luxury  and  culture  and  the  modest  haunts 
of  frugal  toil ;  from  young  and  old,  eminent  and  obscure, — 
all  breathing  a  sincere  grief  and  an  earnest  sympathy : 
"  Since  I  had  the  happiness  of  meeting  him  once  more,  after 
our  great  struggle,"  writes  Judge  Bryan,  from  South  Carolina, 
"  I  was  troubled  by  the  conviction  that  his  life  held  by  the 
most  brittle  tenure  ;  I  have  since  accepted  every  day  of  his 
continued  life,  as  a  special  bounty  of  a  gracious  Providence. 
Perfect  as  he  was  in  the  nearest  and  clearest  relation  of  life, 
so  perfect  was  he  as  a  friend  ;  it  is  for  such  a  friend  I  mourn ; 
and  it  is  for  the  loss  of  such  a  husband,  that  I  mingle  my  tears 
with  yours,  and  commend  you  to  that  unfailing  source  in 
whom  he  trusted  and  who  gave  peace  to  his  last  hour."  "  For 
more  than  thirty  years,"  writes  the  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop, 
of  Massachusetts,  "  his  constant  friendship  has  been  one  of 
my  most  cherished  treasures.  I  have  never  known  a  kinder 
or  a  truer  heart,  or  one  whose  affection  and  sympathy  I  shall 
more  miss  in  what  remains  of  life."  "  How  kind  he  was  in 
taking  notice  of  me,"  writes  a  gifted  lady,  "  and  writing  me  ; 
out  of  his  full  rich  life  I  know  how  to  appreciate  all  this." 
And  his  life-long  friend,  Josias  Pennington,  in  acknowledging 
his  farewell  gift,  says  :  "  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  was 
affected  by  this  evidence  of  his  remembrance  of  me,  among 
the  solemn  thoughts  of  his  preparation  for  an  event  too  soon 
to  follow  ;  and  still  more  by  his  desire  to  be  remembered  by 
me,  after  our  long  earthly  intercourse  should  cease."  "  I 
have  felt  personally  afflicted  and  have  mourned  as  for  a  kins 
man,"  writes  Bishop  Coxe,  of  western  New  York.  "  In  my 
last  visit  to  Europe,  I  often  named  him  as  one  of  those  Ameri 
cans  worthy  of  European  regard  and  universal  esteem ;  I  was 
so  happy,  too,  to  hear  him  spoken  of  as  such.  If  he  were 
but  with  us,  he  would  be  my  candidate  for  the  embassy  to  St. 
James.  Mr.  Kennedy's  part  in  the  late  war  has  never  been 
properly  celebrated.  It  pains  me  to  see  meaner  men  so  much 


TRIBUTES.  473 

over-praised;  while  his  eminent  deserts  are  fully  understood 
only  by  those  who  knew  Baltimore  in  those  horrible  clays." 
"  His  words  of  encouragement  and  wisdom,"  says  his  godson, 
"  I  can  never  forget ;  they  impel  me  to  earnest  effort  that  I 
may  be  accounted  worthy  of  the  name  I  bear  and  the  high 
privilege  I  enjoy  through  that  name."  "  My  sister,"  writes  a 
lady,  of  one  of  his  old  travelling  companions,  "will  never 
forget  how  kind  he  was  to  her,  and  even  her  little  child's  heart 
was  saddened  by  the  knowledge  that  she  should  see  him  no 


more. 


"I  shall  always  esteem  it  a  matter  of  thankfulness,"  says 
Bishop  Whittington,  "  that  Mr.  Kennedy  honored  me  with  his 
kind  regard  ;  and  remember,  with  undiminished  pleasure,  the 
various  occasions  on  which  I  had  the  pleasure  of  enjoying  his 
genial  and  instructive  conversation."  "  To  me,"  writes  David 
Strother,  "  whose  dawning  tastes  and  boyish  eiforts  were  en 
couraged  by  his  kindly  appreciation  ;  whose  mature  career  was 
directed  and  stimulated  by  his  approbation ;  who,  in  the  last 
and  crowning  struggle  of  my  life,  was  strengthened  and  cheer 
ed  by  his  enlightened  and  noble  patriotism, — the  loss  is,  in 
deed,  irreparable.  I  feel  as  if  a  light  had  gone  out  j  yet  this 
is  but  the  light  of  a  personal  friendship ;  while  for  his  country 
and  the  world,  the  light  of  his  life  will  continue  to  burn  the 
brighter  as  time  shall  justify  his  wisdom  and  posterity  set  its 
seal  upon  his  genius." 

"  I  was  not  unaware,"  observes  Rev.  Dr.  Leeds,  Rector  of 
Grace  Church,  Baltimore,  "  many  months  before  his  death, 
that  his  strength  was  failing.  He  had  always  a  habit  of-  so 
happily  disguising  any  bodily  ailment,  by  a  flow  of  spirits  or 
mental  vigor,  that  I  was  put  off  my  guard  in  watching  his  slow 
decay.  He  was  a  noble  Christian  man  ;  to  his  robust  princi 
ples  he  added  a  child-like  trust."  And,  in  a  sermon  by  the 
same  friend,  it  is  well  said,  "  No  line  has  he  written  which  in 
death  he  needed  to  erase  ;  no  sentiment  had  he 'to  recall  which 
either  principle  condemned  or  charity  disallowed;  he  was 
consistent  without  •  harshness,  and  true  without  needless  of- 


474  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

fence."  "  Most  heartily  do  I  unite,"  writes  Goldwin  Smith, 
"  in  all  the  tributes  which  have  been  paid  to  his  high  qualities 
moral  and  social ;  most  sincerely  do  I  mourn  his  death,  and 
most  cherished  will  be  the  memory  of  the  days  which  I  passed 
in  his  society." 


APPENDIX. 


APPENDIX. 


Proceedings  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society. 
At  a  stated  meeting  of  tlie  Massachusetts  Historical  Socie 
ty,  on  the  8th  of  September,  1870,  after  the  transaction  of  the 
formal  business,  the  President,  the  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop, 
announced  the  death  of  Hon.  John  Pendleton  Kennedy,  who 
was  elected  a  Corresponding  member  of  the  Society  in  1858. 
After  an  authentic  and  eloquent  sketch  of  his  life  and  estimate 
of  his  character,  by  the  President,  remarks  of  a  highly  appre 
ciative  kind  were  made  by  Prcf.  Lovell  and  Hon.  George  S. 
Hillard,  and  a  letter  to  the  same  effect,  from  O.  W.  Holmes, 
was  read. 

Proceedings  of  the  Board  of  Trustees  of  the  Pealody  Institute, 
of  the  City  of  Baltimore,  on  the  announcement  of  the  death 
of  Hon.  John  Pendleton  Kennedy,  late  President  of  the  Board. 

At  the  regular  meeting  of  the  Board  of  Trustees,  of  the 
Peabody  Institute,  held  on  Thursday,  the  3d  day  of  November, 
1870,  the  Vice-President  read  the  following  Communication : 

To  the  Trustees  of  the  Peabody  Institute  : 

I  perform  a  sad  and  painful  duty,  in  officially  commu 
nicating  to  you  the  death  of  our  late  President,  John  Pendle 
ton  Kennedy,  which  occurred  on  the  i8th  of  August  last,  at 
Newport,  in  the  State  of  Rhode  Island. 

You  are  all  aware  of  this  mournful  event,  of  the  great  loss 
our  Institute  has  sustained  by  the  removal  of  one  so  active  and 
instrumental  in  elevating  it  to  its  present  state  of  efficiency 
and  usefulness. 

I  am  sure  you  will  avail  yourselves  of  this,  the  "first  meet 
ing  of  the  Board  since  his  death,  to  pay  a  suitable  tribute  to 
his  long  and  faithful  services  to  the  Institute,  and  to  his  uni 
form  kindness  and  courtesy  in  our  official  and  personal  inter 
course  with  him. 

J.  PENNINGTON,  Vice-President. 


478 


LIFE    OF    JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 


The  communication  was  referred  to  a  committee  of  three, 
composed  of  Messrs.  Thomas  Donaldson,  George  W.  bobbin, 
and  George  Wm  Brown,  with  instruction  to  report  thereon  at 
an  adjourned  meeting  of  the  Board,  to  be  held  on  Wednesday, 
the  23d  instant. 

At  the  adjourned  meeting,  held  on  Wednesday,  the  23d 
day  of  November,  1870,  Mr.  Donaldson,  as  Chairman  of  the 
Committee  of  Three,  appointed  at  the  last  meeting,  read  the 
following 

REPORT: 

In  the  death  of  the  Hon.  John  P.  Kennedy,  our  country 
has  lost  one  of  its  most  distinguished  ornaments.  He  was  a 
scholar  of  extensive  and  varied  attainments  ;  a  statesman,  well 
versed  in  the  history  of  his  country,  and  thoroughly  informed 
on  all  public  questions ;  an  author,  who,  as  an  essayist,  was 
strong  in  reasoning  and  clear  and  forcible  in  style,  and,  as  a 
writer  of  fiction,  showed  a  vivid  imagination,  great  descriptive 
power,  and  a  genial  sense  of  humor  ;  and,  to  crown  all,  he  was 
a  man,  benevolent  in  feeling  and  action,  and  of  a  pure  and 
blameless  life. 

But,  while,  in  common  with  our  fellow-citizens  both  of  this 
State  and  of  the  country  at  large,  we  lament  the  loss  of  a  dis 
tinguished  statesman ;  whose  labors  entitled  him  to  the  public 
gratitude,  and  of  an  author  whose  writings  have  enriched  the 
national  literature ;  and,  while,  together  with  all  who  enjoyed 
his  familiar  acquaintance,  we  hold  in  pleasing  remembrance 
his  refined,  but  cordial  hospitality,  and  those  personal  qualities 
which  are  so  attractive  in  social  intercourse  ;  we,  above  all  oth 
ers,  have  reason  to  grieve  at  the  blow  which  has  deprived  us 
of  one,  who  for  so  many  years  presided  over  our  Institute. 

On  terms  of  intimate  friendship  with  the  noble  founder  of  the 
Institute,  Mr.  Kennedy  was  Mr.  Peabody's  chosen  and  trusted 
counsellor,  when  the  foundations  of  the  grand  project  were  laid : 
and  the  same  confidence  was  reposed  in  him  to  the  last  day 
of  Mr.  Peabody's  life.  Nor  was  the  confidence  misplaced. 
Taking  the  deepest  interest  in  the  education  of  the  people, 
understood  in  its  most  comprehensive  sense,  entertaining  the 
most  liberal  views  in  regard  to  the  advancement  of  science,  and 
the  cultivation  of  the  arts  which  elevate  and  refine  human  life, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  feeling  a  strong  affection  for  and  pride 
in  his  native  city,  no  fitter  person  than  Mr.  Kennedy  could 
have  been  selected  as  the  head  of  an  Institution  like  ours.  The 
last  ten  years  have  shown  the  wisdom  of  our  choice  ;  and,  dur- 


APPENDIX.  4:79 

ing  all  that  time,  his  devotion  to  the  interests  of  the  Institute, 
and  his  active,  untiring,  and  always  intelligent  zeal  in  its  ser 
vice,  suffered  no  abatement,  even  in  the  midst  of  advancing 
years  and  failing  health.  Of  this  there  could  be  no  better  il 
lustration  than  his  admirable  address  read  at  our  last  anniver 
sary  meeting,  in  which  he  reviews  what  has  already  been  ac 
complished,  and  sketches  with  a  master's  hand  a  plan  for  our 
future  organization  and  government.  No  one  was  more  eager 
than  he  for  the  full  realization,  at  the  earliest  possible  date, 
of  all  the  benefits  designed  by  our  munificent  founder ;  but 
he  knew  that  time  is  always  a  necessary  element  in  the  suc 
cess  of  so  great  a  work,  and  also  that  prudence  in  the  manage 
ment  of  our  resources  was  absolutely  essential  to  secure  the 
desired  result.  When  our  Institute  shall  have  reached  its  full 
development,  and  the  benefits  conferred  by  it  on  the  communi 
ty  shall  be  gratefully  acknowledged,  it  will  not  be  forgotten  how 
much  we  owe  to  our  late  President,  and  to  his  zeal,  ability, 
and  prudence. 

The  following  resolution  was  then  adopted  : 
Resolved,  That  the  Report  of  the  committee  just  made  be 
entered  upon  the  records  of  the  Institute,  as  the  unanimous 
sense  of  the  Board  of  Trustees,  and  that  the  same  be  printed 
in  pamphlet  form,  and  published  also  in  the  newspapers  of 
the  city. 

CHARLES  J.  M.  EATON, 

Secretary. 

Proceedings  of  the  Maryland  Historical  Society. 

ROOMS  OP  THE  MARYLAND  HISTORICAL  SOCIETY,  ^ 
BALTIMORE,  October  8th,  1870.  \ 

MRS.  JOHN  P.  KENNEDY,  BALTIMORE. 

MADAM  : — I  have  the  honor  to  say  that  in  conformity  with 
my  instructions  I  now  have  the  sad  satisfaction  of  waiting  upon 
you  with  the  following  Resolutions,  which  were  unanimously 
adopted  at  the  last  regular  meeting  of  the  Maryland  Historical 
Society,  held  on  Thursday,  the  6th  inst. 

Resolved,  That  this  Society  has  heard  with  profound  regret 
of  the  death  of  the  Honorable  John  Pendleton  Kennedy,  one 
of  the  active  founders  of  this  Society,  and  for  many  years  its 
Vice-President,  and  one  of  its  most  efficient  friends  and  sup 
porters. 

Resolved,  That  in  his  death  our  city  has  sustained  the  loss 
of  one  of  its  most  respected  citizens,  and  our  country  the  loss 


480  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

of  one  of  its  most  accomplished  scholars  and  ablest  states 
men. 

Resolved,  That  the  Secretary  of  the  Society  communicate 
to  the  family  of  the  deceased,  a  copy  of  these  Resolutions,  and 
the  assurances  that  this  Society  sympathizes  most  seriously  in 
its  sad  bereavement  and  irreparable  loss.  I  have  the  honor 
Madam,  to  remain  very  respectfully, 

Your  ob't  servant, 

E.  H.  Dalrymple, 

Cor.  Sec.  M.  H.  S. 


MR.  KENNEDY'S  WILL. 

The  following  is  his  will,  as  filed  in  the  Orphans'  Court : 

"  I  have  reason  to  thank  God  for  many  blessings  ;  for  kind 
friends,  worthy  kinsmen,  prosperous  and  contented  life ;  for  a 
cheerful  temper,  competence  of  worldly  goods,  a  fair  share  of 
health,  interrupted  only  by  such  alternations  as  have  taught 
me  the  more  to  value  it ;  for  some  stock  of  good  reputation ; 
for  opportunities  of  public  service,  afforded  me  through  the 
confidence  of  my  fellow-townsmen  in  more  than  one  honorable 
trust ;  and  above  all,  for  a  home  made  clear  to  me  by  the  af 
fectionate  and  constant  devotion  of  a  wife  who  has  done  eve 
ry  thing  in  her  power  to  render  me  happy,  whose  rare  virtues 
of  mind  and  heart  have  given  the  most  complete  success  to 
her  endeavors.  For  these  blessings  I  am  devoutly  thankful 
to  my  Maker.  I  pray  to  Him  daily  to  render  me  more  worthy 
of  them. 

';  I  have  striven  so  to  order  my  life  as  to  live  always  above 
the  fear  of  death,  and  have  sought  that  consummation  in  culti 
vating  Christian  faith  and  duty  as  sincerely  if  not  as  diligently 
as  my  infirmities  would  allow.  And  although  I  am  deeply 
sensible  how  for  I  have  fallen  short  of  my  obligation,  and  how 
often,  by  reason  of  the  frailty  of  my  nature,  I  have  foiled  to 
stand  upright,  yet,  placing  my  trust  in  the  mercy  of  my  God, 
I  reverently  hope  for  that  forgiveness  which  through  no  worthi 
ness  of  my  own  I  might  ask,  and  therefore  abide  the  issue  of 
my  life  with  humble  resignation  to  the  will  of  Him  who  gave  it. 

"  That  my  worldly  concerns  may  in  no  case  stand  in  the  way 
of  my  contentment,  nor  ever  be  found  unprovided  for,  I  do 
make  the  following  disposition  of  them,  publishing  and  declar 
ing  this  to  be  my  last  will  and  testament : 


APPENDIX.  481 

"  All  my  property  and  estate,  of  whatsoever  description,  real, 
personal  or  mixed,  which  i  may  possess  at  the  time  of  my  de 
cease,  I  give  to  my  wife  Elizabeth,  her  heirs,  executors,  admin 
istrators  and  assigns  forever.  And  I  request  her,  after  she 
shall  have  enjoyed  the  same  for  her  life,  to  distribute,  either 
by  will  or  gift,  what  may  remain,  among  such  of  my  relatives 
as  she  may  think  most  worthy  of  her  care  and  remembrance. 
She  will  also  gratify  a  purpose  which  I  entertain,  and  which  I 
confide  to  her  accomplishment,  by  making  gifts  in  my  name 
of  certain  portions  of  my  effects  in  the  manner  which  I  may 
suggest  to  her  from  time  to  time,  either  orally  or  by  memo 
randa  expressing  my  wish,  but  which  I  do  not  design  to  make 
a  part  of  this  testament. 

"  And  I  do  hereby  constitute  my  wife  Elizabeth  the  sole  ex 
ecutrix  of  this  my  last  will  and  testament. 

"  In  testimony  whereof  I  have  hereunto  set  my  hand  and 
affixed  my  seal,  in  the  city  of  Baltimore,  on  this  25th  day  of 
October,  in  the  year  1845. 

"  [Seal].  JOHN  P.  KENNEDY. 

"  Signed,  published  and  declared  by  the  testator,  as  and  for 
his  last  will  and  testament,  in  our  presence,  who  in  his  pres 
ence  and  in  the  presence  of  each  other,  and  at  his  request, 
subscribed  our  names  as  witnesses  hereto  : 

"E.  J.  DUBOIS, 
"WILLIAM  M.  EDWARDS, 
"JOHN  H.  ROGERS." 

Accompanying  and  forming  part  of  the  above  will  are  two 
codicils,  dated  i4th  June,  1866.  At  the  bottom  or  on  the  last 
page  of  the  first  is  a  note  stating  that  on  the  315!  of  July,  1865, 
he  made  two  codicils,  the  first  of  which  he  cancelled,  and  sub 
stituted  in  lieu  the  subsequent  one,  retaining  the  second  one 
to  provide,  as  expressed  therein,  for  a  contingency  which  might 
happen,  though  not  probable. 

In  the  first  codicil,  respecting  the  disposition  of  his  prop 
erty,  he  states : 

"  By  that  will  I  have  given  all  my  property  of  every  kind  to 
my  dear  wife,  Elizabeth,  trusting  that  if  she  survived  me,  she 
would,  by  will  or  otherwise,  make  such  a  distribution  of  the 
estate  and  effects  left  to  her  by  me,  or  what  should  remain  of 
them,  as  would  gratify  my  wish  in  regard  to  my  relatives  and 
friends  ;  being  guided  in  such  distribution  by  my  requests  ver 
bally  communicated  to  her,  or  by  letters,  or  such  occasional 
21 


482  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

memoranda  as  I  might  make  for  that  purpose.  As  that  will 
makes  no  provision  for  the  disposal  of  my  estate  in  case  I 
should  survive  her,  now  I  design  this  codicil  to  provide  for 
such  a  contingency,  and  I  declare  the  devises  and  bequests 
contained  in  this  codicil  to  be  made  only  to  take  effect  in  the 
event  of  my  decease  and  my  wife  Elizabeth  not  surviving  me 
long  enough  to  make  the  distribution  of  it,  I  have  suggested 
in  my  will,  or  propose  or  suggest  in  this  codicil.  With  this 
view  and  in  this  contingency  I  devise  and  bequeath  all  my 
estate,  that  is  to  say,  all  my  property,  real  and  personal  and 
mixed,  which  may  belong  to  me  at  the  period  of  my  death,  as 
follows  :  I  desire  ana!  hereby  will  and  direct  that  as  many  of 
my  stocks,  bonds  and  other  securities,  as  may  be  necessary  to 
the  purpose,  and  which  may  not  be  herein  specifically  other 
wise  bequeathed,  shall  be  applied  arid  appropriated  to  the  pay 
ment  of  the  following  legacies  ;  provided,  that  the  amount  to 
be  derived  from  my  said  stock  and  other  security  not  other 
wise  bequeathed  be  sufficient  to  meet  the  same,  and  if  not, 
then  I  desire  that  the  said  legacies  be  rateably  or  proportion 
ally  reduced  to  the  sum  that  may  be  raised  from  the  same." 

In  the  first  codicil  he  directed  the  sale  of  Shock  Hill,  and 
the  proceeds  of  the  whole  property  to  be  divided  between  his 
nephews  and  nieces,  so  as  to  give  hotchpot,  as  the  law  phrases 
it.  As  a  testimony  to  the  patriotism  and  gallantry  of  his  ne 
phew,  Dandridge  Kennedy,  of  the  navy,  and  of  his  cousin, 
Charles  Henry  Pendleton  (son  of  Dr.  E.  Boyd  Pendleton), 
also  of  the  navy,  both  of  whom  distinguished  themselves  by 
their  good  conduct  and  faithful  service  in  the  late  civil  war  in 
crushing  the  rebellion,  he  gave  each  of  them  a  lien  on  his 
share  or  portion  of  the  Valambrosa  lands,  which  heretofore 
belonged  to  the  Berkeley  Coal  and  Iron  Company,  in  Berkeley 
and  Morgan  Counties,  Virginia,  purchased  under  a  judicial 
sale  by  Edward  Gray,  Philip  C.  Pendleton  and  himself,  to  the 
amount  of  $2,500  each,  if  his  share  in  the  same  should  pro 
duce  that  amount  on  the  sale  of  the  property,  which  he  de 
sired  to  be  sold  whenever  the  other  parties  should  agree  to  do 
so,  and  get  a  reasonable  price  therefor.  To  his  cousin,  Dr.  E. 
Boyd  Pendleton,  he  devised  his  farm  in  Sleepy  Creek,  known 
as  Bow  Wow,  of  about  one  hundred  and  eighty  acres,  adjoin 
ing  the  Valambrosa  tract ;  to  his  nephew,  John  Willoughby 
Kennedy,  he  gave  all  his  interest  and  estate  in  a  tract  of  land 
in  the  locks  above  Valambrosa,  called  by  him  Vancluse,  about 
one  thousand  acres  ;  to  his  young  cousin,  Nathaniel  Pendleton, 


APPENDIX.  483 

(son  of  Boyd  Pendleton,  in  Martinsburg,  a  fine,  gallant  boy, 
who  rendered  a  most  important  service  to  General  Kelly  at 
the  time  of  Lee's  invasion  of  Berkeley),  he  gives  his  bounty 
land  in  Nemaha  County,  Kansas,  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres, 
given  to  the  testator  for  his  services  as  a  private  in  the  war  of 
1812  ;  to  his  sister  Martha  he  devised  his  dwelling-house,  on 
Madison  Street,  Baltimore,  with  all  the  furniture,  pictures, 
plate  and  other  articles  of  ornament,  as  also  his  interest  in  his 
carriages  and  horses. 

Out  of  a  fund  derived  from  the  estate  among  other  pro 
visions,  he  directed  that  $5,000  be  reserved  to  defray  the 
expenses  of  a  full  publication  of  his  writings  or  literary  works. 
In  a  subsequent  item  of  the  codicil  he  states  :  "  I  wish  to 
have  a  full  edition  made  of  my  writings,  containing  what  has 
been  already  published  by  Putnam  and  the  Lippincotts  (and 
which  are  now  announced  to  be  in  a  course  of  republication 
by  Hurd  &  Hough  ton),  and  those  also  which  yet  remain  in 
unpublished  manuscript,  containing  also  what  I  have  hereto 
fore  published  in  pamphlets  and  detached  volumes  and  in  news 
papers.  Also  containing  selections  from  my  letters  or  private 
correspondence,  preserved  in  volumes  of  press  copy,  in  loose 
sheets,  portfolios,  and  in  the  repositories  of  my  friends  ;  also 
embracing  selections  from  my  note-books  and  other  manu 
scripts.  If  I  live  to  be  able  to  accomplish  this  task  I  will 
undertake  it  myself.  I  have  already  prepared  in  part  an  ar 
rangement  or  classification  of  those  writings  which  I  suppose 
would  add  four  or  five  volumes  to  those  heretofore  published. 
This  arrangement  I  have  described  in  a  small  MS. 'volume  of 
memoranda,  giving  a  list  of  these  writings,  classed  according 
to  their  characters,  political  or  literary.  I  propose,  in  addi 
tion  to  this  series  of  volumes,  to  have  a  handsome  illustrated 
edition  of  i  Swallow  Barn.'  Now  with  a  view  to  this  enterprise, 
if  I  should  not  complete  it  myself,  I  commit  it  to  my  friends 
Robert  C.  Winthrop,  of  Boston,  Josias  Pennington,  of  Balti 
more,  and  Henry  T.  Tuckerman,  of  New  York,  requesting 
them  to  superintend  and  direct  this  publication  in  such  man 
ner  as  they  may  consider  best  to  promote  the  purpose  I  pro 
pose,  and,  if  necessary,  procure  and  employ  some  discreet  and 
competent  person  to  assume  the  labor  of  its  accomplishment ; 
and  for  defraying  the  expense  of  this  undertaking,  I  place  at 
their  disposal  the  $5,000,  herein  above  directed  to  be  reserved, 
authorizing  them  to  use  the  same,  or  as  much  thereof  as  may 
be  necessary,  for  the  purpose  of  securing  a  complete  publica- 


484  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KEXXKDY. 

tion  of  what  they  may  deem  worthy  to  be  collected  and  pub 
lished  of  my  writings,  and  if  this  sum  should  be  found  insuffi 
cient  to  defray  the  necessary  expense  of  such  a  publication, 
my  executors  are  hereby  authorized  to  supply  what  may  be 
necessary.  I  have  confidence,  however,  that  my  friends  above 
mentioned  will  find  no  difficulty  in  procuring  this  work  to  be 
done  with  the  fund  I  have  appropriated  above. 

"  And  I  further  direct  that  my  said  friends,  Winthrop,  Pen- 
nington  and  Tuckerman,  or  each,  or  either  of  them  as  may 
oblige  me  by  accepting  this  commission,  shall  be  put  in  pos 
session  of  all  my  printed  works,  my  manuscripts,  journals, 
books  containing  newspaper  articles,  pamphlets,  note  and 
common-place  books,  to  be  discreetly  and  confidentially  used 
by  them  in  making  up  the  volumes  for  publication,  and  that 
they  shall  also  have  possession  of  all  stereotyped  plates,  and 
all  pictorial  illustrations,  on  wood  or  steel,  of  my  books  which 
belong  to  me,  and  which  are  now  in  the  custody  or  care  of 
Messrs.  Hurd  &  Houghton,  of  New  York. 

"  And  if  it  should  not  be  convenient  for  my  friends  above 
mentioned,  or  either  of  them,  to  undertake  this  task,  then  I 
wish  my  executors  to  procure  some  competent,  discreet  and 
friendly  person  of  literary  talent  and  repute  to  perform  it ; 
and  1  authorize  them  to  make  provision  for  a  proper  compen 
sation  for  such  a  work,  and  I  enjoin  it  upon  them  to  impress 
upon  such  person  as  may  be  employed  to  treat  the  letters, 
journals  and  other  private  papers  of  mine  submitted  to  his 
inspection  and  use  as  confidential  communications,  to  be  used 
directly  and  solely  for  the  purposes  above  described.  And 
when  these  papers  have  been  used  for  the  above  purpose  and 
there  is  no  further  need  or  occasion  to  refer  to  them  for  that 
purpose,  it  is  my  wish  that  the  manuscript  volumes  containing 
my  journals,  my  note  or  common-place  books,  and  the  several 
volumes  of  my  own  letters  in  press  copy,  as  also  all  my  other 
letters,  such  as  may  possess  any  interest  or  value  (which  I 
desire  to  be  bound  in  volumes)  that  are  now  in  loose  sheets,  shall 
be  returned  to  my  executors,  who  are  requested  to  have  the 
same  packed  away  in  a  strong  walnut  box,  closed  and  locked, 
and  then  delivered  to  the  Peabody  Institute,  to  be  preserved 
by  them  unopened  until  the  year  1900,  when  the  same  shall 
become  the  property  of  the  Institute,  to  be  kept  among  its 
books  and  records.  All  the  rest  of  my  manuscripts,  letters 
and  other  papers  I  give  to  my  nephew,  John  W.  Kennedy, 
to  be  disposed  of  in  such  manner  as  he  may  think  proper. 


APPENDIX.  485 

If  any  profit  should  result  from  the  publication  of  my  writings, 
as  herein  provided  for,  I  desire  that  it  be  disposed  of  or 
appropriated  in  such  manner  as  my  three  friends  above  men 
tioned,  or  the  survivor  of  them,  if  they  shall  have  assumed  or 
procured  the.  publication,  may  appoint  or  direct,  or  if  the 
publication  be  made  under  the  superintendence  of  my  execu 
tors,  then  said  profits  shall  be  brought  into  the  general  fund 
of  my  estate. 

"  Among  the  avails  of  publication  will  be  the  final  disposal 
of  the  stereotype  plates  and  engraved  illustrations  of  my  books 
belonging  to  me." 

To  his  adopted  niece,  Sally  Pendleton,  wife  of  Eugene 
Van  Renssalaer,  he  gave  $1,000,  and  the  same  amount  as  a 
present  to  the  wife  of  his  nephew,  Andrew  ;  also  the  same 
amount  to  his  godson,  J.  P.  Kennedy  Bryan,  son  of  his  friend, 
Judge  George  S.  Bryan,  of  Charleston,  South  Carolina  ;  to 
his  niece,  Mary  Cooke,  $5,000  ;  to  the  children  of  his  late  niece, 
Annie  Selden,  $3,000;  to  his  niece,  Sarah  Selden,  $3,000  ;  to 
his  nephew,  John  Willoughby  Kennedy,  $3,000  ;  to  his  nephew, 
Andrew  E.  Kennedy,  $3,000  ;  to  his  nephew,  Edmund  Ken 
nedy,  $3,000  ;  to  his  nephew,  Dr.  Dandridge  Kennedy,  $3,000  ; 
to  his  niece,  Agnes  Kennedy,  $5,000 — altogether  $28,000.  "  I 
give  to  the  Peabody  Institute,"  says  the  will,  "  my  library, 
comprising  all  my  books,  pamphlets,  maps  and  charts,  ex 
cept  what  I  may  hereafter  dispose  of  otherwise,  and  this  I 
give  as  a  special  donation  from  me  for  the  use  of  the  Insti 
tute,  but  not  to  be  kept  as  a  circulating  library,  by  which  I 
mean,  not  to  be  taken  out  of  the  library  rooms  of  the  Insti 
tute  for  ordinary  use. 

"  I  also  give  to  the  Institute  my  several  bound  volumes  of 
the  manuscripts  of  my  printed  works,  which  I  have  preserved 
in  the  original  MS.  copies,  as  also  my  two  bound  volumes  of 
autograph  letters  which  have  been  written  to  me.  These  I 
give  to  the  Institute  with  a  special  request  that  they  be  care 
fully  preserved  as  a  testimony  of  my  interest  in  its  success. 
I  wish  to  except  from  this  donation  of  my  library  to  the  Pea- 
body  Institute  one  hundred  volumes,  to  be  selected  by  my 
wife  Elizabeth,  as  a  present  to  my  godson,  J.  P.  Kennedy 
Bryan,  and  in  the  making  of  this  selection  I  wish  that  he  also 
may  be  consulted.  My  portrait,  painted  by  Mathew  Wilson, 
I  give  to  the  Peabody  Institute  ;  that  by  Tilyard,  taken  about 
the  year  1827,  I  give  to  my  adopted  niece,  Sallie  Van  Rens 
salaer.  The  two  portraits  of  Elizabeth  and  myself,  taken  by 


486  LIFE    OF   JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

Hubbard,  in  1835,  I  give  to  my  nephew,  John  Willoughby 
Kennedy.  My  oil  and  water  color  paintings  in  the  house  on 
Madison  Street,  and  all  the  engravings,  prints  and  photographs 
in  portfolio,  or  hung  upon  the  walls  in  the-  house,  I  desire 
shall  remain  therein  as  part  of  the  furniture  of  the  same  as 
long  as  the  house  shall  be  retained  by  my  sister,  Martha 
Gray,  if  she  should  survive  Elizabeth  and  myself;  but  after 
the  decease  of  Martha,  in  that  event,  or  of  my  decease,  if  I 
should  be  the  last  of  our  little  family  to  occupy  the  house, 
then  I  give  the  paintings,  engravings  and  photographs  to  my 
niece,  Sally  Pendleton  (Mrs.  Van  Renssalaer). 

"  I  give  to  my  said  niece  Sally,  Mrs.  Van  Renssalaer,  all 
my  objects  of  virtu,  small  pictures,  ornamental  or  curious  toys  ; 
in  short,  I  give  her  whatever  she  may  choose  to  select  among 
the  ornaments,  pictures  and  photographs,  and  other  articles 
of  interest  belonging  to  me  and  usually  kept  in  the  drawing- 
rooms  and  chambers  of  the  house  in  Madison  Street. 

"  I  give  to  my  brother  Anthony  my  small  portfolios  of  auto 
graph  letters,  which  I  have  preserved  among  my  papers,  among 
which  are  found  many  from  Washington  Irving,  Prescott,  Ever 
ett  and  others  of  our  own  country,  as  well  as  collections  of  notes 
and  letters  from  distinguished  persons  abroad.  These  are 
contained  in  small  volumes,  octavo  and  duodecimos,  in  their 
separate  sheets  unbound,  and  are  generally  deposited  in  my 
safety  closet. 

"  I  give  to  my  niece,  Sally' Van  Renssalaer,  the  books  be 
longing  to  me,  and  usually  kept  in  the  book-case  in  the  draw 
ing-room  of  my  house  in  Madison  Street.  But  I  desire  to 
have  it  understood  that  these  books,  as  well  as  the  objects  of 
virtu  and  ornaments  in  the  house,  are  intended  to  be  included 
by  me  in  the  devise  and  bequest  to  my  sister,  Martha  E.  Gray, 
as  set  forth  and  declared  in  the  seventh  article  of  this  codicil, 
in  which  I  give  her  the  same  during  her  life  ;  and  it  is  only 
after  she  has  ceased  to  hold  them  that  I  intend  they  shall  go 
to  my  said  niece  Sally.  I  give,  also,  on  the  same  condition, 
to  my  said  niece  Sally,  whatever  plate  may  belong  to  me  ;  and 
I  give  her  also,  in  like  manner,  any  such  articles  or  portions  of 
the  furniture  of  my  house  on  Madison  Street,  not  exceeding 
five  hundred  dollars  in  value,  as  she  may  desire  to  possess  and 
may  select,  after  which  selection  the  residue  shall  be  sold  as 
provided  in  the  seventh  article. 

"  I  give  to  my  sister  Martha,  if  she  should  survive  me,  the 
use  of  the  wines  and  spirits  in  the  house  in  Madison  Street 


APPENDIX.  487 

during  her  life,  and  after  that  I  desire  that  the  residue  thereof 
may  be  sold  and  the  proceeds  be  brought  into  the  account  of 
my  estate. 

"  My  books  contained  in  the  book-case  of  the  library  in  the 
country  house  of  the  factory,  I  give  to  my  brother  Anthony 
Kennedy,  and  also  all  the  engravings  in  that  library,  and  the 
busts  of  Webster  and  Adams  there. 

"  I  give  to  the  Aged  Men's  Home,  the  institution  lately  es 
tablished  in  the  western  part  of  this  city,  one  thousand  dollars, 
which  I  desire  shall  be  permanently  invested  by  the  trustees 
or  managers  of  the  establishment,  and  out  of  the  yearly  inter 
est  thereof  there  shall  be  supplied  a  bowl  of  punch  every 
year,  on  Christmas  Day,  for  the  refreshment  and  comfort  of  the 
pensioners  or  inmates  of  the  house  at  their  Christmas  dinner; 
and  that  the  residue,  whatever  may  be  left  of  the  yearly  inter 
est,  I  desire  may  be  applied  to  the  purchase  of  medicine  for 
the  institution.  In  like  manner  I  give  one  thousand  dollars 
to  the  Aged  Women's  Home,  to  be  also  invested  and  the  year 
ly  interest  to  be  applied  to  supplying  a  proper  quantity  of 
wholesome  wine  for  the  Christmas  dinner  in  each  year  of  the 
pensioners  or  inmates  of  that  house,  and  the  residue  of  the  in 
terest  to  be  appropriated  to  the  medical  supplies  of  the  insti 
tution.  And  I  hope  that  these  old  people  of  both  sexes  will 
kindly  remember  me  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  solace  which  this 
donation  may  annually  afford  them. 

"  If  the  two  legacies  or  either  of  them  mentioned  in  this 
section  seventeen  should  lapse  by  reason  of  the  failure  of  these 
societies,  then  I  desire  that  they  shall  be  transferred  to  such 
similar  institution,  one  or  both,  as  the  case  may  be,  as  the 
Mayor  of  the  city  of  Baltimore  may  select,  and  this  transfer  to 
be  repeated  totics  gastus,  as  often  as  the  lapse  may  occur  ;  and 
in  order  that  the  legacies  may  be  perpetuated,  I  request  that 
the  corporation  of  the  city  will. take  charge  of  and  securely  in 
vest  the  fund  whenever  the  failure  of  the  institutions  above  named 
should  render  it  necessary. 

"It  is  my  wish,  and  I  so  direct,  that  a  complete  copy  of  my 
works,  substantially  bound,  be  presented  in  my  name  to  Har 
vard  University,  as  a  token  of  my  respect  for  that  great  national 
school  and  an  acknowledgment  of  my  gratitude  for  the  honor 
it  has  done  me  in  conferring  on  me  the  degree  of  Doctor  of 
Laws. 

"  I  give  my  Winthrop  chair,  purchased  by  me  in  Maine  some 
thirty  years  ago,  to  my  friend  Robert  C.  Winthrop,  or  in  case 


488  LIFE    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 

of  his  death  to  his  eldest  son  ;  to  Judge  Bryan,  of  Charleston, 
S.  C.,  a  copy  of  my  works,  neatly  bound ;  also  to  General  D. 
H.  Strother,  '  Porte  Crayon,'  as  he  is  known  in  the  artist  world, 
as  also  the  two  paintings  of  the  Artist  Studio  in  Paris,  which 
were  painted  by  him  and  purchased  by  me  some  years  ago." 
He  left  also  $1,000  to  be  paid  to  the  manager  of  the  factory 
on  the  Patapsco,  Mr.  Bone,  or  if  not  living,  to  the  President  of 
the  Company,  to  be  appropriated  for  the  benefit  of  the  school  of 
the  factory,  to  be  applied  for  the  education  of  the  children  of 
such  of  the  families  as  have  been  longest  resident  at  the  fac 
tory  and  engaged  in  its  service,  and  to  such  meritorious  chil 
dren  as  the  managers  may  commend  for  the  donation  ;  also 
$100  each  to  the  old  servants,  Annie  and  Nellie,  and  a  like 
sum  to  William  Brown,  a  dining-room  servant. 

By  the  codicil  Josias  Pennington  and  Thomas  Donaldson 
are  appointed  executors  of  the  last  will  of  the  deceased,  who 
concludes  with  the  declaration  that  the  codicil  should  only 
take  effect  in  the  contingency  that  he  should  survive  his  wife, 
but  if,  on  the  contrary,  she  should  survive,  then  it  is  his  wish 
that  she  should  regard  this  codicil  only  as  an  indication  of 
what  distribution  he  should  like  her  to  make,  if  she  sees  no  good 
reason  to  the  contrary,  of  his  effects  ;  also  his  hope  that  she 
will  add  to  these  gifts  and  dispositions  of  his  such  others  as 
may  occur  to  her  to  be  worthy  of  her  and  his  regard  ;  and  also 
that  she  will  not  scruple  to  make  such  changes  in  his  arrange 
ment  as  to  persons,  manner  and  objects,  as  well  as  in  amount, 
as  may  be  commended  by  her  own  judgment.  He  particularly 
wishes  that  she  should  assume  a  full  control  over  the  publica 
tion  of  his  works  and  the  distribution  and  disposal  of  his  man 
uscripts  and  papers,  looking,  as  he  is  sure  she  will  to  what  she 
may  think  best  for  his  reputation  and  the  preservation  of  a 
kind  memory  for  what  he  had  done  and  what  he  had  wished 
to  do  for  his  country  and  friends. 

She  will  also,  he  knows,  fulfil  any  wish  of  his  in  regard  to 
the  distribution  of  his  property  which  he  may  hereafter  make 
known  to  her  by  letter  or  verbal  request  or  memoranda  in 
writing. 

In  the  second  codicil,  executed  the  same  day  (i4th  June, 
1866),  he  provides  for  the  contingency  of  his  wife  surviving 
him,  and  dying  intestate,  which,  he  states,  "  I  know  could  only 
happen  by  some  accidental  loss  or  destruction  of  her  last  will 
and  testament  under  circumstances  that  did  not  admit  of  its 
reproduction.  In  such  an  event  both  her  wish  and  mine 


APPENDIX. 


489 


would  be  seriously  frustrated,  as  we  have  both  executed  our 
testaments  by  mutual  understanding  and  arrangement  of  their 
respective  provisions.  Therefore,  with  a  view  to  guard  against 
this  accident,  and  in  no  wise  to  impair  the  complete  substan 
tial  enjoyment  and  control,  which  it  is  the  purpose  of  my  will 
dated  of  the  25th  of  October,  1845,  of  which  this  is  a  second 
codicil,  to  give  to  my  wife  Elizabeth  over  all  the  property  and 
estate  which  T  have 'therein  devised  or  bequeathed  to  her,  I 
do  hereby  will  and  direct  if  by  any  accident  the  last  will  and 
testament  of  my  dear  wife,  or  paper  in  the  nature  thereof, 
should  be  lost  or  destroyed  at  a  time  or  under  circumstances 
that  do  not  admit  of  means  to  repair  such  loss  or  reproduce 
such  will  or  testament,  and  if  by  that  or  any  other  reason  my 
said  wife  Elizabeth  should  die  intestate,  that  then  and  in  such 
case  the  property  and  estate,  so  far  as  aforesaid  devised  and 
bequeathed  by  me  to  her,  shall  pass  in  the  manner  set  forth 
and  required  by  my  first  codicil  executed  on  this  day,  and 
shall  go  to  the  second  devisees  and  legatees  therein  mentioned, 
and  the  execution  thereof  shall  vest  in  the  same  executors,  who 
shall  be  charged  with  all  the  duties  therein  described  as  fully 
as  if  all  the  provisions,  conditions,  bequests,  devises  and  di 
rections  therein  written  were  here  specifically  repeated." 

This  codicil  re-appoints  Josias  Pennin£jton  and  Thomas 
Donaldson  as  executors. 


490 


LTFK    OF    JOHN    P.  KENNEDY. 


A  chaste  and  appropriate  monument  of  white  marble  marks 
the  grave  of  Mr.  Kennedy  at  Green  Mount,  which  bears  the 
following  inscription  : 


IN    MEMORY    OF 

JOHN  PENDLETON  KENNEDY: 

Born  25th  October,  1795  j    Died  i8th  August,  1870. 

/ 

Author,  Statesman,  Patriot.  He  adorned  every  path  which 
he  pursued  ;  and,  after  a  prosperous  and  happy  life,  died  in  all 
the  blessedness  of  a  Christian's  hope. 

"  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God." 


THE      END. 


HON.    JOHN    P.    KENNEDY, 

A  new  and  uniform  edition,  handsomely  printed  on  tinted  paper  (exclusive  of 
the  Ambrose  Letters).  9  vols.,  12mo.  Cloth,  $18.00;  half  calf,  $36.00;  or 
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SWALLOW  BARN,     -          -          -          *          -      1    "        2.00 
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QUODLIBET,  -  -  -  -  -        1      " 

LIFE  OP  WILLIAM  WIRT,       -          -          -  2    " 

MISCELLANIES,         -  -  -          -  -  1    "        1871 

POLITICAL  PAPERS,       -          -          -          -  1    " 

LIFE  AND  LETTERS,  BY  TUCKERMAN,  -  1    " 

MR.  AMBROSE'S  LETTERS  ON  THE  REBELLION.  1  vol.,  16mo. 
Paper,  $1.00;  cloth,  $1.50. 

His  "Horse-shoe  Robinson"  and  "Rob  of  the  Bowl"  will  live  with  the  sea 
romances  of  Cooper.— Philadelphia  Press. 

Few  of  our  gifted  countrymen,  with  so  many  and  such  varied  excellence,  are 
chargeable  with  so  few  defects.  He  is  at  the  same  time  a  bold  and  exquisite 
painter;  his  touches,  to  suit  the  subject  and  occasion,  equally  free  and  delicate. 
His  style,  as  fine  and  chaste  as  Washington  Irving's,  and  finished  as  is  his  most 
elaborate  efforts,  is  always  full  of  life. — Southern  Quarterly  Review,  1852. 

The  talent  of  our  author  is  probably  not  inferior  to  that  of  Mr.  Irving.  Some 
of  the  smaller  compositions,  in  which  the  author  depends  merely  on  his  own  re 
sources,  exhibit  a  point  and  vigor  of  thought,  and  a  felicity  and  freshness  of  style, 
that  place  them  quite  upon  a  level  with  the  best  passages  in  the  "  Sketch  Book." 
— N.  A.  Review,  1833. 

"  Swallow  Barn"  describes,  with  a  pleasant  vein  of  humor,  country  life  in  Vir 
ginia,  as  it  existed  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  present  century.  .  .  .  Let  us  take 
this  living  picture  of  local  manners,  from  the  hands  of  our  author,  and  thank  him 
for  drawing  their  likeness  before  they  had  wholly  passed  away.—  New  York  Even 
ing  Post. 

Of  the  Ambrose  Letters  on  the  Rebellion,  "The  Nation"  says: 

We  do  not  know  of  any  other  two  hundred  and  forty-six  pages,  of  small  size, 
In  which  so  much  wisdom  and  historical  fact  and  substance  have  been  compressed 
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morean,  have  enabled  him  to  produce  a  treatise  on  Secession  which  we  could 
wish  to  see  in  the  hands  of  every  reflecting  Southerner  and  of  very  many  North 
erners. 

GK   P.   PUTNAM   &    SONS, 

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the  World  and  the  Progress  of  Society,  from  the  Creation  to  the  Present  Time. 
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professional  man." — Christian  Inquirer. 

"It  is  worth  ten  times  its  price.   .   .      It  completely  supplies  my  need." — 5.  W.  Reigart, 
Principal  of  High  School,  Lancaster,  Pa. 

TUCKERMAN'S  BOOK  OF  THE  ARTISTS.  Comprising  Bio- 
graphical  and  Critical  Sketches  of  American  Artists;  preceded  by  an 
Historical  Account  of  the  Rise  and  Progress  of  Art  in  America.  With  an  Ap 
pendix  containing  lists  of  Pictures  and  Private  Collections.  By  Henry  T.  Tucker-  ' 
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Malbone, 

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West, 

Huntington, 

Morse, 

Church, 

Crawford, 

Allston, 

Biers  tad  t, 

Chapman, 

Elliott, 

Palmer. 

Vanderlyn, 

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and  interesting  record  of  the  progress  of  Art  in  the  United  States." — Evening  Post. 

WARTON.     The  History  of  English  Poetry,  from  the  Eleventh 
to  the  Seventeenth  Century.    By  Thomas  Warton,  Poet  Laureate. 
From  the  last  London  edition.     Three  vols.  8vo.,  complete  in  one  volume  large 
I2mo,  1027  pages,  cloth  extra,  $425;  half  calf  extra,  $6.50. 
"A  most  curious,  valuable,  and  interesting  literary  history." — Lowndes- 


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